


My roots run deep into the hollow

by Dapperscript, merrythoughts



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #ForBothOfUs, 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Het, Biting, Bitterness, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantasizing, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends With Benefits, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Minor Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Multi, Murder Kink, Not Canon Compliant, Poly Dynamics Kinda, Possessive Behavior, Post-Episode: s02e05 Mukozuke, Power Dynamics, Roleplay Logs, Roughhousing, Season/Series 02, Sexual Frustration, Teasing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 61,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dapperscript/pseuds/Dapperscript, https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts
Summary: Matthew has no plans on dying anytime soon, thanks. He's got things to do. Great things. And he has new friends to play with. Will Graham isn't the Copycat Killer, but Hannibal Lecteristhe Chesapeake Ripper and the Ripper fancies Graham and he has access to Graham, but Graham hates Lecter... What a tangled fucking web. A serial killer soap opera.[Mid-season 2 AU. Will Graham and Matthew Brown first become allies, then friends, but where does that leave Hannibal? Focuses on the dynamic between Will, Matthew & Hannibal.]





	1. Moves and countermoves

**Author's Note:**

> **Merry:** If you hate Matthew Brown, don't read. If you hate a _potential_ end-game Matthew/Will/Hannibal murder club poly arrangement, don't read. If you're curious how we may get there, do read. Matthew gets better, I promise. I originally pitched this idea as Will and Matthew tormenting Hannibal/using each other/fucking around while believing that Matthew would be thrown away in the end, but ehhhh. He's grown on us and we love dynamics. (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡
> 
> Matthew/Hannibal written by merrythought ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Will written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beverly and Abigail's voices sound louder as the blood reaches his shins, rising faster now as Will's pulse thrums in his throat. His back itches and his head feels heavy and he wonders just how large the rack of antlers he wears have become. It's a telling weight, a righteous one.

_"Strike back a little harder_  
_I scream a little louder_  
_My roots, my roots_  
_Run deep into the hollow_  
_I'm stronger than I ever knew_  
_I'm strong because of you_  
_I hit back a little louder_  
_Fuck you a little harder_  
_My roots, my roots_  
_Run deep into the hollow"_

**Roots** by In This Moment

* * *

Matthew Brown drives back to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He has a lot on his mind, but his eyes are focused. Lecter had said some pretty interesting things. Like Will Graham isn't actually a hawk -- at least not yet. Hannibal Lecter thinks Will _could_ be. Matthew is inclined to agree. It also turns out that Lecter is very fond of the curly-haired man. So much so that Lecter is going to orchestrate Will Graham's release. All three of them are going to have some fun. Some good old-fashioned, fucked up fun.

What's troubling is that Will Graham had _lied_ to him. Will Graham had let him believe they were the _same_. Matthew isn't very pleased about that, but he can understand why. At least a little. He can't forgive him, no, but he can understand.

Will's locked up. Will's desperate. Desperate men do desperate things. Matthew's been desperate, he's clawed his nails into his wrists, feeling the roar in his ears that he tries to drown out with heavy metal music. He’s been desperate to make rent, desperate to fall asleep, desperate to be noticed.

He changes into the spare uniform kept in his car. He slips in unnoticed because he's just an orderly. No one cares.

As per his protocol when dallying with Will, Matthew cuts off the video and recording feed for that particular floor. He retrieves the appropriate keys before strolling down the appropriate corridor. Matthew hums a happy little tune until he comes to a stop outside of Will's cell. The man of the hour!

"That doctor of yours... Interesting fella," Matthew begins, a lazy smirk on his face as he inserts the key in the lock but doesn't turn it. "I'm afraid to say that he hasn't been dispatched. Learned a few interesting things. About you."

* * *

_'I want you to kill Hannibal Lecter.'_

Words are like pulses, each one thrumming inside his skin. Instead of his veins, it's his throat. Instead of a knife bleeding them free, it's his voice, but is there any difference? A knife is a tool easily weaponized and now Will's voice has fallen under the same category.

He waits, staring ahead as blood wells soundlessly from the walls, as the sink in his cell slowly overflows and drips crimson down onto the floor. The cell is large and the bars are perfectly placed, yet even as red runs across the floor, it comes to an unnatural stop in front of the bars. Minutes turn into an hour and Will watches the blood slowly rise. The floor outside his cell is clear, but the blood is up to his ankles. Will can feel it, all hot and wet and soaking into his prison-issue pants.

The air is copper and iron, the steady _drip drip_ of the blood an aching void that needs to be filled. Whispers quietly sound with every drop. One moment they sound like Abigail's voice, and the next Beverly's. Each time, the knife in his chest twists deeper and Will feels more of himself bleed free.

He wonders just what Hannibal's plan had been. Was he to be a canary? Sitting pretty to sing for Hannibal Lecter when he deigned to visit? Was Hannibal planning to rescue him? Matthew had been responsible for the bailiff but Hannibal had been the man to cut open the judge's head. Justice. Blind and dull. No eyes, no brain, a clear message.

Beverly and Abigail's voices sound louder as the blood reaches his shins, rising faster now as Will's pulse thrums in his throat. His back itches and his head feels heavy and he wonders just how large the rack of antlers he wears have become. It's a telling weight, a righteous one.

Tonight, Hannibal Lecter will die and Will has already made that choice.

Minutes, hours, days - time has no meaning in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane - he has no idea how long has passed, but the night is dark when Will hears the sound of footsteps. He opens his eyes from where he had closed them and he watches as the blood flickers and then begins to bleed away, seeping through the cracked tile of the floor. He watches it, interested, and feels a quiet sense of power beating like butterfly's wings in his chest.

He wonders if this is how Hannibal would have felt.

Will breathes and then looks at Matthew Brown when the man finally stops in front of his cell. Will is silently surprised; he hadn't expected Matthew to make it out alive. Curious.

The reasoning becomes apparent and Will feels that quiet sense of power flicker and then dash into nothing. His expression remains blank despite the immediate anger that he feels. He hasn't forgotten that Matthew Brown is a dangerous man, for all his impulsiveness, and he is the man with the keys and control over the cameras.

"Oh?" Will says, slowly, and the cadence of his voice is casual, almost detached. "I'd be careful about listening to what Hannibal Lecter has to say. A sphinx speaks in riddles and snakes only lie. Hannibal falls quietly somewhere in between."

* * *

Matthew wonders if Will thought he'd die on this mission. Matthew also wonders if Will would have even _cared_. How fucked up is this man the justice system has locked away? Is he a sociopath? A psychopath? Not even Matthew knows. Will's desperate and angry enough to send a near-stranger after his target. That should give him some indication. Matthew has no plans on dying anytime soon, thanks. He's got things to do. Great things. And he has new friends to play with.

Will Graham isn't the Copycat Killer, but Hannibal Lecter _is_ the Chesapeake Ripper, and the Ripper fancies Graham and _he_ has access to Graham, but Graham hates Lecter... What a tangled fucking web. A serial killer soap opera. It's badass and exciting and maybe he's been half hard for a while, but Matthew doesn't care. Hasn't he been waiting his entire life for something like _this_? His calling? Maybe getting in bed with Lecter and Graham is how he'll begin.

"And you sound just like him," Matthew points out. Sphinxes and snakes. Pointy fangs and forked tongues. Both Lecter and Graham could be pretentious fuckholes.

He beckons Will over with his finger. _Here puppy, puppy._

Will gets up, but is unhurried while making his way over to the bars (over to him).

"He's going to get you out of here. The judge's death simply starts the process all over again, buuuuut that Lecter is a cunning one, seems to have a plan to get you out for good. So you see... I couldn't kill him. He's useful."

Matthew reaches out through the bars and grips Will's chin.

"You let me believe you were a killer, Mr. Graham. You may not be yet, but Lecter and I both think you still have it in you."

* * *

He sounds just like Hannibal. The words send a frisson of something that feels like it should be revulsion through him but instead Will only distantly calculates it. It's like a whisper of a suggestion against his mind. A quiet, subtle influence. Does he sound like Hannibal, or is he _wearing_ Hannibal?

Will's frown is thoughtful as he glances to the side, away from Matthew, dismissive. He feels like a calmer version of himself, who he needs to be while in this Hellhole. People hurting hurt people, but desperate people do desperate things. Will is doing what he needs to in order to survive, and _apparently_ so is Hannibal.

Will pretends for a moment not to notice Matthew beckoning him over. There is definite danger in this, in the cameras being off and Hannibal quietly infecting Matthew's mind. There's no telling what had been said. All he knows is that if he wants control he needs to _take it_ and so he does. Matthew may be the one with the power. The man who locks and unlocks Will's handcuffs, who straps him tightly into jackets and places bite-guard masks over his mouth. The power is unbalanced but Will has his own ace up his sleeve; Matthew has already revealed his hand.

He _likes_ Will. He admires him, wants his attention, and so Will's dismissive behavior is as clear a reprimand as he can make it.

' _You didn't do the trick, you don't get the treat.'_

In the end, however, Matthew is not a balanced man. Will knows better than to keep him waiting indefinitely, so he rises from his bench, draws a slow breath, and then makes his way over to the bars. Will's fingers wrap around them slowly and he stands, deceptively unafraid.

The knowledge that Hannibal apparently has a plan to get him _out_ sends a flare of desperation and rage through him at the same time, but Will is careful not to let it show. He's given an excuse soon because then Matthew is reaching out and gripping his chin and Will's expression twists into a mild flinch. It lingers, and he's almost grateful for it, because it masks the small spark of panic within. It's the one chip he has over Matthew, and of _course_ Hannibal had tried to destroy it.

Will wets his lips as best as he can and his knuckles turn white on the bars. What is it with sociopathic bastards wanting to get him to kill? He gathers himself together until his expression again smooths out, and then he makes himself look over at Matthew. He looks at the space between his eyes.

"I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs," Will says flatly, letting the words draw themselves out. "I shot him ten times, point blank. I let you believe I was a killer because I am. Look at me," Will adds, and he draws a slow breath and thinks about killing, about murder. About young women on antlers and tongues in bibles and he lets Matthew _see_.

"I'm as much a hawk as you are."

* * *

Sure, Will makes him wait. The show of attitude pisses Matthew off a little bit. Will's bedside manner is nothing out of the ordinary for this place. Not the best, but certainly not the worst. Matthew has dealt with bigger assholes than Will. But Will _does_ come over so Matthew knows that he's playing the game, too. They're all playing the game. Will wants to get even, to lash out and explode as long as he can take Lecter down with him.

And Matthew thinks he knows the inciting incident that had set off this ticking time bomb. He's done a bit of digging and it turns out that the FBI lady that used to visit Will got herself killed. Matthew can put two and two together. Katz was likely helping Will out, attempting to investigate Hannibal, but that hadn't turned out good for her. Does Will Graham even feel remorse for the Fed's death, or are people just pawns to him?

Matthew has no designs on being a pawn. He knows Graham and Lecter both think they're smarter than he is and they'll be shortsighted because of it. Matthew's counting on this. He's gonna insert himself into their little lover's quarrel. Yep. Gonna get knee deep and his hands will get nice and dirty.

The flinch that flashes across Will's face is pretty nice. Matthew thinks Will is probably a decently-expressive guy. He kinda wants to hurt Will and see if he's right. It'd definitely piss Lecter off because the Ripper is sure as shit obsessed with Will Graham. Matthew has Will Graham right here and Will wants to get back at Lecter. If he can win over and wrangle in the Ripper's boy-toy, maybe this can get Matthew closer to the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Their eyes meet, but Matthew can't really understand what Will is trying to get him to see. He let's go of Will's chin and scrapes a nail up Will's jaw. Matthew can understand touch and hurting, so this is what he seeks to do.

"You shot Hobbs while on duty. You were doing your job, granted ten times is a little excessive," Matthew says, smirking. "But it's a good start nonetheless. You do know he loves you in some fucked up way, right? He must, because he's obsessed with you and not in an endearing way."

* * *

Matthew Brown is a sadist. Will sees it the moment after he flinches, a telltale light in Matthew's eyes, a curious flicker that looks vaguely avian, like he wants to cock his head and move closer. It's the look a hawk gives to a captured mouse, but Will has no intention of being dinner. It's a hunger he can see and as that hunger deepens, as Matthew fails to understand what Will is trying to show him, as he lets go of Will's chin and scrapes a nail sharply up his jaw to make him draw in a sharper breath, suddenly he wonders. His glance is subtle, taken only when Matthew's gaze wanders, but one look is all it takes for Will to see the highlighted rise in Matthew's pants.

He's hard, or half-hard, depending. A twist of something colder and bitter slides through Will as he stands there but he fights to keep his expression settled. He can still fight if he has to. There's no telling what a man like Matthew intends to _do_ , and the burning scratch to his jaw seems like the least of Will's worries as he stares Matthew down, his jaw bunched and tight, hands almost fixed on the bars of the cell. He doesn't back down.

So caught up in the realization is he - the acute worry regarding Matthew's intentions - that Will almost misses what he says. Almost. His frown is immediate and Will blinks, almost making the mistake of actually looking this piece of shit in the eye following an accusation like _that_.

Hannibal Lecter doesn't love him. Will is nothing more than a toy, a favored plaything, something to keep locked away in the toybox to keep pristine, away from grubby unwashed hands. Here, Jack can't touch him. Here, no one can touch him. No one except Hannibal.

...and Matthew. Will silently takes a hand off the bar and touches his jaw, tracing the welt left behind. It stings. But the more he finds himself thinking about Matthew's words, the more plausible it seems. Oh, Hannibal isn't in love with him, but _obsession_ Will understands. Hannibal wishes to possess him, to gain exclusive rights in the same way Freddie Lounds does. Hannibal wants to be his _friend_.

Or so Will thinks. As he looks at the certainty in Matthew's eyes, as panic makes him think, he can't help but recall the times Hannibal has touched him. A hand on his shoulder, hands upon his face, a blanket wrapped around him with a lingering touch. He thinks about the way Hannibal looks at him, the odd look in his eye when Will enters a room. And bit by bit the puzzle piece begin to fit together. If Hannibal isn't in love with him, he _wants_ him in some way. Anger and bitterness and rage flare hot and he doesn't think as he moves his hand back to the bar and leans in, putting himself brazenly closer to Matthew.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Will asks blankly, like he doesn't _care_. What the fuck is he doing? "I don't care. I wanted him _dead_. What about you? What do you want from me? You wouldn't be here if there wasn't a reason."

* * *

It's gonna be quite the ride. An awesome high without the fucking side effects and harsh return to reality. A slippery serial killer production with him as the star, but Matthew is going to manage just fine. He's been waiting for this his entire life, hasn't he? This is his calling, the stage lights set, and his fellow actors are none other than Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. A small intimate cast, yes, but he assumes that murder and drama should be tight-knit. He thinks Lecter would agree.

Matthew witnesses his words peck away at Will Graham. They shake something up. They shake up doubt and Will frowns. Will doesn't want to believe it. So caught up in his righteous anger, the idea that Lecter could _love_ him hasn't entered into his head.

Matthew gets it. His father hit his mother, yeah, but he had loved her too. People do fucked up things. People _are_ fucked up. You can hit the ones you love. You can give 'em bruises and terrorize them as long as, in the end, you took care of 'em and Matthew's father had done just that. He'd put food on the table and provided a roof over their heads. So what if there hadn't been roses and a candlelit dinner for his mother or trips to Disneyland for the family? Matthew never needed that shit. He still doesn't.

Matthew's eyes glint as he watches Will touch along the welt left behind on his jaw and consider his words. Will Graham is pretty for a guy, a mix of delicate and rough. Will Graham reminds him of a feral animal, locked up, but not idle, simply pacing and waiting to pounce when the opportune moment arises. Well, Matthew is going to pounce first.

"Care or don't care, whatever," Matthew whispers and he leans closer to the bars, closer to Will's mouth. He turns the key. The click of the door unlocking is audible.

"I want you. You seem fun. It'd piss Lecter off. What do you think? You wanna be _mine_?"

Matthew doesn't give a shit if Will's a man. Gender and sexuality are just words. He's above all that. He just wants to fuck Will Graham up and figure out what Lecter sees in him.

* * *

Hannibal wants him, exclusively. While he's not said as much, the reality is suddenly so fucking obvious. Why lock Will away like this other than to keep him safe and contained? A perfect little bird on a perch. If Hannibal had been trying to offload his crimes onto Will, he'd done a poor job, particularly in only framing him for the copycat murders instead of the Ripper murders as well.

But no... no, he couldn't have. Will frowns as the _why_ suddenly becomes obvious. If he'd been tried for the Ripper murders, it would have been the death penalty for sure. Hannibal doesn't want him dead, he just wants him isolated. Alone. Desperate. This is... fuck, is this his way of tenderizing Will up? Break him down to swoop in and be the hero?

Anger pulses hot and thick through his veins like venom and Will's fists on the bars are white-knuckled when Matthew steps in closer. Suddenly Will knows with absolute certainty that if he can't _kill_ Hannibal Lecter, he wants to _hurt_ him. Hannibal has everything. It would have been hard to hurt him. But now, as Will stares at Matthew Brown and looks at his thin lips and the flicker of danger in his green eyes, he finds himself grateful for such an appropriately gift-wrapped opportunity.

Hannibal wants him, in some way, wants him contained. Refusing Hannibal that right - lording it over him and taunting - might just be a way to hurt him. Right now, dressed in the jumpsuit of the BSHCI, what else does Will have to lose?

Recklessness rises like bile in Will's throat as he stares at Matthew Brown. Labels and orientation suddenly don't matter. It doesn't matter that Will has always thought of himself as straight. Either this hurts Hannibal, or it gives him an opportunity to manipulate his way out of this Hellhole on his own.

The turn of the key in the lock sends a resounding _click_ through the cell and Will doesn't even need to think on it before he's wetting his lips and nodding, glancing pointedly to the door of the cell.

"If you make it _good?_ Sure," he says, because one glance at Matthew tells him all he needs to know about how to appeal the most. Matthew Brown wants a challenge but complacency. "Gonna need a little proof first, though."

Because it'll only be a matter of time before Hannibal comes to call, and Will has a _theory_ to test now.

* * *

Lecter and Graham are two fucked up fuckers, both obsessive with each other, both probably too proud to ever admit it. Their stubborn pride would likely screw them over in the end too. Give it time, give it time. Pride comes before the fall or whatever that phrase was. Should be fun to watch and see how they burn up. Matthew is going to enjoy the warmth and flames. Nice n' cozy, maybe cook some s'mores.

Matthew's read up on Will's notes, listened to Chilton and him talk about the questionable therapies and allegations. Will has a lot to be pissed off about, especially being framed and all. So terrible when the justice you sought to uphold fails you when you need it the most. Too bad, really.

Matthew is counting on Will's anger. Best way to hurt someone is flaunt what they _can't_ have and Matthew is not above some revenge sex. Could be interesting. Probably would be seeing that it's Will Graham. Matthew has a lot to ask Will now that he knows the truth, too. Maybe Will could do some acting for him, put on a little killer show.

 _'If you make it_ good _. Sure.'_

Matthew smirks. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He's never had any complaints about his performance in the bedroom, he's sure he can make it very good. At the mention of 'proof,' Matthew thinks he knows what Will is getting at. His grin grows as he motions for Will to step aside from the door.

Graham does. Matthew swings it open enough to slip in, leaving the key in the lock still.

"Some proof, huh?" He murmurs. "You want me to leave you a nice present to show Lecter?"

Matthew advances on Will. They may be nearly even in height, but Matthew is younger and in shape. This isn't about overpowering Will, though.

* * *

The smirk is loud even without Will needing to look at Matthew's eyes. He's pleased, amused, the anger fading, the intrigue setting in, thinking Will's an interesting little toy-- Will closes his eyes and draws in a slow breath and silently locks away the side of himself that has reservations about this.

He doesn't care about what Matthew intends to do. All he cares about is that Hannibal _sees_ it. Anger licks hot through him as he dutifully takes a step back and the cell door swings open just wide enough to let Matthew in.

It strikes Will then that all he needs to do is push. The key is in the lock. One push to send Matthew back against the bars, and then maybe move his head between the latch of the door and the heavy metal cage. Daze him, then give the door a good old-fashioned swing, and... and what? The rush of thoughts hits a roadblock when Will thinks about the cameras in the other parts of the building.

The guilty run. Will isn't guilty. There's nowhere he _could_ run to begin with, except to Hannibal, and Will isn't going to do that. Not again. So low, simmering thoughts of freedom fizzle on the back of Will's tongue as Matthew advances on him. Disappointment fades into something more intentional. With the distraction mostly taken care of, Will feels the calm only felt from visceral anger slide through him again and he hesitates, then nods.

At first he thinks about his shoulder, but there's no way for Hannibal to see that. Will could offer his hands, his wrists, but the intimacy and possession in _wrists_ is less poignant. Will is quiet for a moment as he considers and then he finally makes up his mind. Reaching a hand up to the collar of the jumpsuit and the shirt beneath, he curls his fingers in it and then pointedly pulls it down. He doesn't meet Matthew's eyes when he glances back at him sharply, but it looks like he does.

"I do. Low, so the cameras won't see it. You think you can do that?"

* * *

He's aware that Graham could try and attack him. Will could lunge at him, knock him down and use the cell door to smash his brains in. It'd be grisly but it would do the trick. Matthew's left the keys in the lock on purpose -- a little show of trust, or maybe a taunt, not even he knows. But Will Graham isn't desperate enough to kill or fight his way out of the hospital. The camera and recording feed might be turned off for this wing, but they aren't for the rest. Will's also is an innocent man, at least of the crimes he's been accused of. Lecter put him in here, Lecter could get him out. Supposedly, anyway.

When Will exposes his collarbone, Matthew nods. "Down low, so they won't know," he sing-songs. "But in a place you can show off to Hannibal Lecter when he comes calling. I like it."

He does, it's going to be great fun. He's definitely going to be reviewing the tape when Lecter visits next. Lovers quarrel. Daytime television at its finest. Matthew steps closer to Will and puts his hands on Will's shoulders. He gently nudges Will back until he's against the wall. Much better.

Matthew pushes away Will's hand -- he'll hold Will's collar down himself, thanks. Matthew licks his lips.

"He's never tasted your flesh, right?"

Matthew doesn't wait for an answer. He's not gentle as he bites and sucks along Will's clavicle. One mark won't be enough. He'll decorate Will Graham up. He'll bite his possession and ownership into tender skin all for Lecter to behold at a later date. While he tastes Will's flesh he grinds his erection into Will's thigh. He won't be able to do anything other than this, but it feels good to _use_ Will like this.

***

Hannibal Lecter is not pleased, perhaps that's why he dresses in a more severe color pallet. The suit jacket, vest and slacks are dark blue - nearly black. He's chosen a red patterned tie to go over a crisp steel grey dress shirt accompanied by a grey pocket square. Not a single hair is out of place. His face is impassive as he drives, but there is a fury of emotion tightly contained within.

Will Graham had sent someone to kill him. Were _he_ not the intended target, he'd likely be impressed with Will's tenacity, but no. He _had_ been the intended target with Matthew Brown sent as his executioner.

Mathew Brown... An orderly from the BSHCI and a self-important twit with delusions of grandeur and a penchant for obsessive tendencies. Matthew is also Will Graham's secret admirer, the bailiff's killer and even with Will's files he hadn’t been able to execute _that_ murder properly.

Hannibal is not impressed, but at least he's not dead. As much as it burns to admit, Hannibal hadn't been expecting such a recourse from Will. He had been caught completely unawares by Matthew. Such an occurrence will not happen again. Thankfully, Matthew had been stalled by his interest in the Ripper and the truth about Will Graham.

The two of them had come to an agreement, entering into a bargain of sorts. Hannibal may enjoy games, but he doesn't enjoy when they're not of his own making. Matthew Brown will pay, but right now Matthew is of little importance.

Hannibal checks in. Thankfully Chilton is away and shan't bother him. He has no patience for that imbecile. Hannibal is accommodating and calm during the security check and once he has obtained his visitor badge, he walks the corridor to Will's cell in long strides. Each step is controlled and even and while Hannibal's face may appear blank, he _is_ angry.

"Hello Will. Been keeping busy?"

His voice is cool, words clipped. He's not a man to dwell in regret, but perhaps it had been a mistake to take this course of action with Will. Growing sentiment has been very inconvenient.

* * *

The memory of the evening before lingers like smoke in the back of Will's mind. It doesn't feel quite real in the light of day. Nothing has changed outside of Will's new knowledge and suspicions and the fact that he now knows what a man at his throat feels like. He takes great care in behaving exactly as he always has, as he knows Chilton is watching from his cozy little office. There are times Will considers putting on a show simply to fuck with his sense of propriety, but he knows all that would result in would be Chilton bringing it up during their next session and Will's patience has worn thin.

So he keeps his hands to himself. He eats the slop on the tray slid to him by a man who isn't Matthew Brown in the morning, and he keeps his hands away from his clavicle despite the deep burn to it.

Matthew had not been gentle and the knowledge slides a slick, perverse satisfaction through him. Hannibal will come today. After what happened yesterday, after what Will _did_ \- or almost had Matthew do - he won't be able to resist coming by. Will it be to gloat? To let Will knows he _knows?_   Will doesn't care, because now he has a theory he can viably test. His collarbone is littered with deep-bitten bruises and he almost laughs at the memory of Matthew saying ' _He's never tasted your flesh, right?'_

No, Hannibal hasn't. Considering who Hannibal is, Will wonders if he'd ever been on the menu. Is he still? The laugh within takes a slightly hysterical edge and he closes his eyes and feels the burn in his throat and contents himself with the knowledge he will not be here long.

It's past noon when a man walks to his cell and tells him he has a visitor. Will opens his eyes briefly and watches the orderly - new, a little twitchy - flinch away from what he sees there. So many of them think Will is so much more dangerous than he is. Or maybe he _is_ and he just isn't aware. He nods his understanding and distantly acknowledges the twist of anxiety and anticipation in his chest. He has no idea that Chilton has stepped out, that he will not be privy to this conversation. So instead Will sets his hands on his knees and slowly rises, walking to the bars of the cage.

A colder anger settles in his chest when he finally sees Hannibal. He's dressed to the nines, his clothing immaculate and as strict as it can be. Will reads power and anger in the grey and red and blue-nearly-black and he keeps his satisfaction from his eyes as Hannibal approaches.

Will doesn't look him in the eye but he knows Hannibal is angry. It's a curious sensation, Hannibal's anger. So contained, so delicate, and so raw. Does it hurt, he wonders, to know he'd been caught off guard?

How's bruised pride feel, Hannibal?

"Hello, Doctor Lecter," Will deadpans back. Hannibal's voice is an interesting tone he's never heard before. He likes it. It feels raw, just how Will feels. Beverly Katz would agree. "Yes, as much as I can from in here. You're looking well."

Will's smile is nothing more than a twitch on his lips, something coy that vanishes the next second.

* * *

It's now that Hannibal realizes Will Graham likely has no idea that _this_ course of action - the path Hannibal has chosen - was actually the lesser of two evils for Will. Will _should_ have been taken care of _properly_. Killed. Erased from the equation permanently. Perhaps made to look like suicide, but at the very least framed _and_ killed.

It would have been nice and neat. _This_ is messy. Hannibal abhors mess and loose ends and it now feels as if there are yet more fraying ends -- once-firm knots becoming slack. It's dangerous. The involvement of Matthew Brown, Will's apparent recklessness and rage... these things are all concerning and demand attention.

Will is in the customary bland prison jumpsuit and Hannibal finds that he actually misses seeing the loose-fitting plaid shirts Will once wore. Will's hair is as long as it's ever been. Curly, wild, and unkempt -- like Will himself. Fitting. Will may be locked up, but he's been fashioning weapons of all kinds. Manipulation through words -- a part of Hannibal cannot help but be proud. His mongoose fighting the snakes as they slither by. Fearless and brash. A predator in the making.

He's back to being called 'Doctor Lecter'. Hannibal thinks it's also fitting. He hadn't taken a large amount of satisfaction from killing Beverly Katz. While it was rude to sneak into his house uninvited, she hadn't been rude to him previously. It was a necessary kill, one which Will facilitated by moving her piece closer to the King.

Moves and counter-moves. If Will wants to threaten him, Hannibal will react accordingly. Will is not exempt from recourse.

The sound of Will's voice is telling. No fake show of emotion, no teary eyes. A chill to meet Hannibal's own coldness. Also fitting.

Hannibal inclines his head, polished shoes toeing the 'do not cross' line. He aches to take steps that would bring him closer, but he staunchly refuses to give in.

"Alive and well, all limbs firmly attached," Hannibal answers curtly. "I'm glad you're staying engaged. I imagine it can become rather dreary without proper stimulation. I would hate for your mind to become its own prison. Could be dangerous. Who knows what kinds of impulses would strike..."

* * *

Hannibal has shown his hand quite clearly and Will is not going to make the same mistakes. He'd sent Beverly Katz in Hannibal's direction like a wandering lamb and the wolf had ripped out her throat. It had been... respectful. Hannibal had only dissected her post-mortem. He'd not made her suffer. Perhaps it had been out of a sign of respect. Perhaps had he had the opportunity, he would have kept her but Will had forced his hand.

Something aching and agonizing twists in his belly like a scream and Will slowly breathes through it as he stares Hannibal down. He won't make the same mistake again. People he sends in Hannibal's direction will end up dead. If Will can't make them see, he can hurt Hannibal his way.

He can see the twitch in Hannibal's feet, the way he seems to want to step closer but this time it's Hannibal trapped by the monitors. Will wonders how much rage is thrumming in Hannibal's chest, just how difficult it is for him to stand there and feign indifference when he wants to get at Will. By locking Will away, he's put him in the safest place possible. Hannibal can't get to him here. He can visit him, but he can't _see_ him.

The answer is a small dig and Will doesn't smile, though he wants to. Oh, he's staying _quite_ engaged now. He's got the embers of Beverly Katz fueling his rage and the cinders of Abigail Hobbs stoking his screams. Two people taken from him. Abigail and Beverly; hope and stability, gone.

Will steps up close enough to the bars to touch them and thinks about Matthew. His fingers curl around the bars as he leans against them and subtly shifts. One hand rises to his throat - a simple motion, as if going to rub at his neck or scratch his jaw - but Will keeps his hand there, shielding his skin from the camera.

"I'm keeping busy. I have endless time alone with my thoughts, and what with dear, nosy Frederick, I'm making all _kinds_ of friends."

Will's thumb slips. It's subtle, but he pushes the collar of his shirt down just enough to show the dark red bruising. He shows only a hint, leaving it clear that there is plenty more out of sight, and Will watches Hannibal like the hawk he's told Matthew he is.

"I think my impulses are being handled well enough."

* * *

When he was a younger man, he was more volatile. Emotions rose like the tide, sweeping him up, and Hannibal wasn't a stranger to giving in to the pounding of the waves that seemed, at the time, to demand action. He is not a young man now, however. Hannibal knows impulses are meant to be stalled and considered carefully before being acted upon. Higher reasoning is what separates them from mere animals and isn't his own intellect what further divides him from the cattle? A cut above the rest, so to speak.

Hannibal longs to throttle Will Graham, to have both a physical and intimate outlet for his frustration and rage. He wants to make Will understand that _this_ isn't what he wanted. He hadn't wanted to become compromised (the very idea sickens him), to let an unstable man like Will infect his own life and spread like a virus. A life that Hannibal had cultivated and designed, taking care and effort in pruning away the people and parts that didn't fit his taste.

But all it had taken was Alana meddling and Hannibal found himself face-to-face with an intriguing man, a puzzle he wanted to both play with directly and study from afar. A presence that grew into an obsession. A fixation that prompted Hannibal to take unnecessary risks, as if Will's own recklessness was inspiring, spurring _him_ on to play with fire.

He _should_ know better. He's seen Bedelia's own pitying looks sent his way and yet Hannibal knows he's been drawn in and chained to Will Graham. To whatever end, no matter what Will burns down in the process. Hannibal only hopes it will be him walking away from the ashes.

Hannibal's eyes track Will's hand as it lifts to his throat. He's expecting the barb about new friends - _Matthew_ a voice sneers in his head - but Hannibal is not expecting the shirt collar to be pulled down and reveal obvious bruising that was undoubtedly left _by_ said friend. It's not even the entirety of the marks, he can tell there's _more_.

Hannibal's jaw clenches, his upper lip curls and then he wrestles back control and his face displays none of the indignation and fury that course through his veins. Hannibal swallows down an ugly possessiveness that has made its first appearance.

This isn't like him. He feels unsteady in the sheer intensity of his reaction and he ought to retreat and calm himself. Hannibal licks his lips and exhales slowly, he reins himself back in and has no plans on giving Will any more ammunition.

"So it would seem," Hannibal comments, his voice hollow. "I'd caution you in your choice of company. It's a delicate time for you. I would hate for you to lose someone else close to you."

A threat delivered. If Will wishes to taunt him, Hannibal will snap back.

* * *

There it is.

Even though Will had been expecting to see something like this, the fact that he can _see_ Hannibal's reaction is enough to honestly stun him for a moment. He's quiet as he looks at Hannibal, as he watches something so alien pass over his face with a greed that cannot be hidden. As if in slow motion, Will watches the muscles of Hannibal's jaw bunch. He watches as his lip twists in a curl of visceral rage that he's never seen before, and its presence on Hannibal's normally-stoic face is mesmerizing.

Will finds himself oddly grateful the cameras can't see Hannibal's face. This expression, this victory, even if it only exists for a fraction of a second, is all for him. It's _his_ victory. Maybe Hannibal Lecter isn't dead, but he's suddenly pinned, suddenly experiencing emotion, and Will wants to let out the grin he feels building.

He doesn't. Instead, his gaze moves over Hannibal's face until he manages to contain himself again, but the damage has been done.

Matthew Brown had been right. Will's too viciously pleased to find that unsettling right now. He has no idea what form Hannibal's possessiveness takes but it is very clear in that moment that Hannibal wants him. His mind, his body, his favor, his attention, it doesn't matter which one; Will finally has a hook he can use. Hannibal Lecter _wants_ and Will has the option to deny him that want and it's a thrilling, heady feeling that lingers somewhere between giddiness and something nearing arousal.

Power, he thinks. This is power.

Hannibal's threat is softened by the way he has to visibly pull himself back together. Will watches the mask knit itself back in place. He watches Hannibal's forced impassiveness, the bob of his throat, the way his tongue snakes out fittingly to wet his lips (once a snake...). A colder alarm begins to work its way through Will's body at the thought of what Hannibal _could_ do, but before panic can bloom, Will realizes that he does have a bargaining chip now. For once in their _friendship_ , Will has the upper hand and it's thrilling.

Even so, the _'someone else'_ sends a horrible ache through him. It wraps insidiously around his throat and makes the scream in his mind that much louder. Will breathes through it and quiets the storm to the best of his abilities. He can finally hurt Hannibal back.

"Yes, so would I. After Beverly, if I were to lose someone else... I don't know what I'd do," Will says softly, low enough that the cameras will have a harder time picking it out. "I certainly wouldn't be able to see you anymore. A conflict of interest. I can only lose so much, Doctor Lecter. Any more and I'll have to give Frederick more than just the time of day."

It's intentionally barbed, refusing Hannibal's name but clearly using Chilton's. Will doesn't like the man, but he'll do as a catalyst for now.

"He _is_ my psychiatrist now. If anything were to happen, if any more of my _friends_ are lost... I'd have to give him exclusivity. For my own well being. I'm sure you understand."

* * *

More than bars separate them. Hannibal knows this now. His actions, his choices - while necessary - have carved a great divide between them, perhaps more vast than he'd initially anticipated. He's hurt Will, personally affronted him and now Will is intentionally trying to anger him, to hurt him back with whatever he can. Classic revenge and recklessness. Perhaps Will still wishes him dead, perhaps not. Whatever scraps Matthew Brown shared have now brought this game forth. It may be an inelegant game, but Will is a man with very few options.

Hannibal tries to not think on the knowledge that Will had _allowed_ or perhaps even _invited_ Matthew to leave such lurid marks behind. Matthew Brown opening his stupid mouth with the intention to leave _evidence_ of the scandal. Had he been salivating like a rabid dog at the mere thought of marking up Will, at finally having attention and involvement in dangerous affairs he could scarcely comprehend? The fool. Hannibal will make him pay dearly for not minding his own business.

Hannibal may be inwardly seething toward the insignificant gnat that he will soon crush, but he can still see the glee in Will over his brief show of emotion. They both are observing each other with penetrating eyes, searching for signs of weakness, for any hints or clues as to what is going on inside the other's head... And it's only _now_ that Hannibal has the spark of a sick realization... The not quite show-and-tell had been a simple test, tailored specifically to wrench a reaction from him. Will hadn't been certain of his worth, or rather had a difficult time believing Hannibal _could_ want him. Irritation flares anew, but Hannibal remains where he's at, rigid but staring Will down.

Even as Will opens his mouth Hannibal can intuit what is going to occur. Hannibal listens as Will chooses his words and hones his craft. Pieces slide across the metaphorical chess board -- Will's own riposte. It's ambiguous, but Hannibal _sees_ what this is and his lips twitch at the corners in recognition of the cunning. Will is going to use his attention and company as a means to bargain. Matthew Brown must be left alive or Will shan't be fit to deal with him.

He says nothing immediately, letting the silence accent this scene Will has crafted.

"Yes, I understand," Hannibal says. "It's good to see you looking out for yourself and taking a more active role in your recovery."

While it’s a half-truth, Hannibal recognizes he is at a disadvantage. He does not plan to remain in such a state for long, but in the interim, he can still applaud Will for his own manipulation of the pieces available to him.

* * *

A sick satisfaction works through Will's chest as the silence settles in on his claim. Neither of them move and the moment settles like the calm after an intensely-held note in one of Hannibal's operas. Will's gaze is fixed on Hannibal, on the man he had once believed to be his friend. Now, after everything, they're so far from friendship that Will can't see it any longer. Perhaps he could forgive his incarceration based on who Hannibal is; empathy doesn't give Will a choice whether or not he wants to empathize with another. After Beverly... Bitterness and rage and _hurt_ twist like an obstruction in Will's throat and the anger is so damn easy to pick up and hold close.

Hannibal goes quiet and Will is satisfied, but even he is given pause when he catches the faintest twitch of the corners of Hannibal's lips. At first Will believes it's nothing more than a trick of the light but it soon becomes apparent that Hannibal had smiled, even if it had only been a ghost of one. Why would he--... is he proud? Does he know something Will doesn't? The thought is enough to make Will's lips thin, make the furrow deepen slightly on his brow. Doubt tastes thick on his tongue and he wants nothing more than to spit it out.

Before he can wonder or work himself up, doubt is eradicated by Hannibal's own lips. The weight to Will's shoulders eases and he's quiet as Hannibal speaks. Pride then. For some reason, Hannibal is _proud_ of him and all Will wants to do is lash out at him. He draws a slow breath and pictures how Hannibal's throat might feel under his hands, pictures how good his fist connecting with Hannibal's jaw might feel, but that isn't the game Will is playing. Physical violence is satisfying, but short-lived. He wants Hannibal to hurt, to feel like he does, to _pay_. To pay for what's been done to him.

Will blinks hard and sees inky black and a wide rack of antlers and he almost panics. Not because the shade is once again lingering in Will's mind but because he swears - just for a second - that he can feel a grinding vibration through his skull, through his back, bone on bone. Antler on antler. He blinks again with a softly-drawn breath and the image vanishes. Will lifts a hand to his hair, raking his fingers back through it, and feels no evidence of anything ever having been there. It's enough to have shaken him and that just pisses him off more. There's nothing that can be done about it though. Not now. Not from here.

"I've learned something," Will says, and his voice is slightly harder, having lost the easy, confident edge he'd had before. "The only person who's going to look out for me is myself. I am in the process of restructuring my thoughts to reflect this new fact. I can make friends, I can keep them, but _trust_..." Will trails off. He looks at Hannibal just for a moment with something visceral in his eyes. Rage, hurt, not even he knows. There is no way to define the emotions Hannibal Lecter makes him feel.

"Trust is another matter."

* * *

The cameras are rolling so they talk and behave civilly. The camera won't be able to see everything the two of them see - the hard edge and glint in their eyes - the micro-expressions - nuances that only they know from countless hours spent in each other's presence. Much has transpired between them. Hannibal is uncertain what all Will has confessed to Frederick Chilton, but he's not worried. Chilton is like Matthew Brown - self-important, but ultimately a fool and fools usually get what's coming to them.

After Hannibal says his piece, Will does not rush to give any reply. Something seems to catch Will's attention and give way to a degree of distress. Hannibal sees Will zone out and blink rather tellingly. Interesting. Another hallucination? If so, likely visual in nature. So treating the Encephalitis hadn't cleared everything up? As intriguing as it would be to inquire, Will is not his patient and now is hardly the appropriate time.

Will recovers on his own, coming back to himself and running fingers through his hair as if checking for something.

Soon enough new evidence shall emerge and Will Graham will be acquitted. He will no longer be thought of as the Copycat Killer. He will return to his life and then they can hopefully return to their regular sessions. Hannibal wants to find out more, to dig and discover in the privacy of his own office. Oh, he has work to do, he knows. He has to deal with Will's anger and address the whole Matthew Brown issue first. But he has time. They have time.

Hannibal listens as Will speaks, Will's voice more callous than before. Will touches on the concept of trust and it's clear that this message is for him. He's betrayed Will, Hannibal knows this, but... But what, exactly? He doesn't regret doing it. Hannibal likely would do the same again. Certain decisions could have possibly been made differently, yes, but the past could not be unmade. And Will is rebuilding himself, he's far stronger than before and Hannibal cannot help but be proud that he's been the catalyst.

"Very good," Hannibal comments and opens his mouth to say more on the matter of self-trust and personal growth, but then closes it. He decides to take another route and he edges half a step closer. No guards are paying them any attention, so Hannibal gets away with crossing the line.

"While you were lovely in your naivety - and I shall miss that softer side - you are simply stunning like this, Will," Hannibal wets his lips before continuing, taking in this resilient man, a man who's proven to be troublesome, but far too _promising_ to let slip away.

"I only hope you don't become too hardened."

* * *

Will doesn't know who is watching this exchange, or if Chilton is recording this. Frankly he doesn't care. There is nothing for Chilton to glean from this exchange except what Will has already told him, and that Will is angry. It doesn't matter; everyone in this goddamn place is angry whether they want to admit it or not. One doesn't get sent to the Baltimore State Hospital for the _Criminally_ Insane without having done something to warrant the _Criminal_ side of things. Anger is prevalent in here, and aside from being Chilton's favorite little patient, Will doubts he's smart enough to read deeper into this. As far as he will see, Will is angry and bitter, and Hannibal is patient and full of regret, exactly as it should be. Barring Will's little reveal, Hannibal's played the part perfectly.

So when he suddenly not only applauds Will for his words but takes a step closer, Will goes still. His eyes dart to the guards behind the door and he remembers them yelling after Dr. Du Maurier, but either the guards aren't paying attention or Hannibal is an exception to the rule. Will doesn't step back. Instead his hands find the bars to his cell and his knuckles go white with the effort. In that split second, he wonders how he would hurt Hannibal were he just to step a little closer. It'd be impractical and would only serve to get him in deeper trouble but the thought is settling. Will draws in a slow, deeper breath and then lets it out. He tries to calm himself. It doesn't work.

The words - lovely, naivety, stunning - strike like physical blows and the storm in Will's chest rises. He swallows and realizes belatedly that his jaw hurts because he's been clenching his teeth. Will forces his tongue between them and breathes again, leveling Hannibal with a look that is both bitter and hurt at the same time. When he manages to find his voice past the scream in his throat, his tone is colder but still level, still controlled. Despite the burning anger, it is so goddamn easy to channel Hannibal's calm. _Too_ easy. Will doesn't like what that says about him.

"Add enough heat and you can temper anything."

Will lifts his eyes to Hannibal's finally and takes the risk. He can see pride and anger, something deeper and knotted and covered in thorns that he wants to claw away with his own hands. Ultimately Hannibal is controlled, but what little Will can see past his masks says a lot. He's not alone in this storm and the thought almost pisses him off more because he _knows_ Hannibal doesn't regret this. Will's hands tighten on the bars of his cell - his _cage_ \- and they hurt.

"Take raw material and add heat. Watch it melt into a mold of one's choosing. From there, temper and smash it until it takes the shape. Over and over and over again. A violent creative process. But each time you work the edges, it becomes more malleable until it’s time to finally harden and set the shape. Then you grind it down to cut your own edge.” Will's voice is not as steady as he wishes it was.

"It's not _my_ actions that harden my steel and sharpen my edges, _Doctor_ Lecter."

* * *

In the beginning Will had been naive and trusting, opening up about monsters in the closet and shadows looming around corners. Hannibal had provided a nonjudgmental atmosphere for Will to feel safe in, for Will to be encouraged to wade into the darkness. He'd fed Will's dogs, shared his kitchen and became a friend while they had regularly scheduled conversations. It had largely been a one sided friendship with Will believing a falsehood, while Hannibal had given much in terms of support and time, but had been mostly disingenuous with his actions. A distinct power imbalance had also been present as Will remained in the dark while Hannibal had wound Will up and manipulated him from behind the scenes.

Hannibal observes Will reach out and grasp the bars tightly - tight enough for knuckles to turn white. Yes, that's a nice show of righteous anger for him. Hannibal wonders if Will wishes it was his _neck_ instead of the bars. It's undoubtedly a risk to facilitate Will's release as there's no telling what trouble he would get into. Will is clearly up to no good in cavorting with Matthew and being a free man would only give Will more options. While the unpredictability is thrilling in a sense, it's also supremely reckless to let one man possibly ruin _everything._ But Hannibal knows he won't be changing his mind. He should retreat and reconsider his plans, but even knowing the depth of Will's anger and desperation, he finds that he would rather Will be free than locked away. 'Locked away' comes with many limitations and Hannibal is quite tired of them.

His words incite Will, causing the younger man to clench his jaw. Hannibal is not surprised that Will doesn't want to hear anything nice from him. Will seems to compose himself again and with interest Hannibal watches him transition into something resembling a more calm and controlled demeanor. Is this a part of the new Will Graham or a mask?

"A violent creative process indeed," Hannibal remarks and he momentarily turns toward the end of the corridor, glancing at seemingly dismissive guards before looking back to Will. "But necessary for transformation and to become stronger."

Hannibal takes another step closer and in a fluid motion reaches out to brush his fingers against Will's knuckles before trying to leave.

"I eagerly await to see what you are fashioned into, Will. Be careful in the meantime. Change in a volatile process."

With that said, Hannibal leaves. His steps may be measured and even, but Hannibal feels off balance from the revelations. He's hoping that arranging a bouquet for Sheldon Isley will help.

* * *

Hannibal is blatant this time and Will finds himself suddenly aware that Chilton is likely not watching this. Hannibal steps close and the guards should protest. There should be a voice over the intercom and the buzzing of the doors being unlocked; instead only silence remains. Chilton's out, then, or Hannibal has spoken with him before now. Will's gaze hardens as Hannibal steps in closer and like this, it would be so easy to reach out and grab him. His knuckles bleed white further and Will feels the scream in his throat slide into his hands, and a part of him wants to transfer his own scream to Hannibal's throat. Grip it tight enough and inject his own influence the way Hannibal has been injecting Will with his own. Even, equality, duplicity, everything their relationship has lacked up until that point.

Will's upper lip curls at what Hannibal says - that this creative process is violent and _necessary_ for change - and a part of him wants to lash out and be done with it. Instead he feels a fleeting touch against his knuckles and the contact is so fucking quick that he doesn't have time to react. All he feels is softness and heat. Hannibal's fingers are without calluses, the tips soft in a way Will's are never going to be. It's a fleeting touch but it's still contact Will hadn't sanctioned, and he feels an aching mix of emotions in that second. Rage flares bright that Hannibal would _dare_ , but he's surprised by the aching regret he feels too.

Will is not a man who has many friends. He has even fewer now. In fact, he can count his friends on one hand because he doesn't _have_ any. Alana believes his guilt. Jack does the same. Beverly is dead. Price and Zeller have never been his friends, and Hannibal - the only friend he'd fully believed he'd had - had never been his friend. Is it possible to grieve something you've never had? He's definitely grieving the ideal, and it stings far more than logic dictates it should.

He's quiet as Hannibal turns and steps away. The idea of change being a volatile process is true, but Will aches for the volatility. He aches for the unpredictable nature of change because anything must be better than remaining stagnant like this. He looks after Hannibal in silence, listening to the soft step of his heel, and Will pries his hands from the bars and wants to punch something. He doesn't. Instead he wraps his rage up with a nice crimson bow and mechanically walks back to his cot. Then he lifts his hand to his throat and his fingers press hard against the hidden marks left behind, pressing in until they hurt enough to focus him. In a few days - with luck - Will is going to be free. Not even he knows what he'll do then, but one thing is certain: Hannibal _wants_ him and he's going to make damn certain Hannibal knows he can't _have_ him.


	2. You and me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You saw the tapes. You know I liked it. Just like I know that you liked that he saw the marks. He wants to kill you," Will adds almost conversationally, but the mention of Hannibal _has_ made a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ᴖ◡ᴖ) Just bros bein' bros, right?  
> Matthew/Hannibal written by merrythought ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Will written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))  
> A big thanks to[ TempestandTeacup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestandTeacup/pseuds/TempestandTeacup) for proofreading this chapter.

Matthew Brown sleeps like the dead thanks to his meds. If he doesn't take the little pill that gives him the funny taste in his mouth, he doesn't sleep. It's as simple as that. So he usually takes his meds. Matthew's a bit of an insomniac, but it makes the overnight shifts easier. He sets six alarms on his phone to make sure he's up by noon. He rolls out of his shitty bed, groggy and grumpy. He's on autopilot as he showers, shaves and eats his Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He likes the sugary cereals. When he was a kid it was always Shreddies. Fuck boring cereals. He worked out enough to allow himself to more or less have an unhealthy cereal for breakfast.

He listens to Lamb of God as he drives to work, mouthing along to the chorus while his fingers tap on the steering wheel.

 _'This God that I worship (a faded reflection)_  
_This demon I blame (a flickering flame)_  
_Conspire as one, exactly the same_  
_It's exactly the same'_

Matthew thinks Lecter could appreciate the sentiment. What about Will Graham though? He doesn't know what Will actually believes about good and evil. Would Will go back and teach the aspiring young agents of tomorrow or would he be back tromping in the fields and trying to catch men like Lecter and himself? Matthew has no plans on being caught -- at least not for a while. He has a name to make for himself. A legacy to create. He's going to kill the Ripper. Probably. Maybe giftwrap it for Will. It's a cool thought.

Matthew stays busy throughout his shift. He keeps his head down and his nose out of trouble, or at least no one catches him in the act of any trouble, because he does snoop around and listen. He also reviews the recording of Lecter's visit in the morning. He plans on visiting Will once it's lights out and the amount of staff and security guards dwindle. It's after ten when he cuts the video and audio recording for Will's block. Matthew collects the correct set of keys and strolls to see Will again.

"Mr. Graham, you had an eventful morning," Matthew remarks as he walks up and inserts the key into the lock. He doesn't even pause before turning it.

* * *

Will doesn't so much as spend the day doing anything, as he simply observes its passing. It doesn't take Chilton long to return from lunch and Will is distantly aware that the man is less than pleased that he'd missed such a vital visit between Will and Hannibal. But to his credit, he only tries to wiggle a few details out of Will for ten minutes before giving up. Will alternates between sitting and laying down, eyes either closed or unblinking, staring straight ahead. In his mind's eye he's not in the hospital. Chilton isn't the man in front of him. There _is_ no man in front of him. He imagines the loose, baggy prison-issue jumpsuit as nothing more than ratty jeans and waders and he can almost hear the soft, careful chirping of birds in the trees and the gentle splash of curious fish that nip around his boots. He fishes in silence and breathes. Reel in, breathe in, cast his line, breathe out.

Hannibal's visit doesn't leave his mind but it was never going to. Will just breathes and casts and - when the waters run red and the splashes shriek and his antlers tangle in the low-hanging branches above - he fights past the panic and reels in his anger instead. It helps to calm him.

The night guard has just barely finished his rounds a little past ten (he won't do another one until two, as always) when Will hears the door to the block open again. His stream vanishes in the wake of his own curiosity and Will looks to the side from where he's laid himself back on the thin cot in his cell. His hands are clasped over his abdomen and all he moves is his eyes when Matthew Brown once more walks into his field of vision.

The first thought Will has is that he doesn't have the patience to handle Matthew right now. The second is that he's in the perfect frame of mind to actually break out of this place right the fuck _now_. The third is merely a distant acknowledgement of the keys, and the fourth is a weariness that Will can't properly describe. He simply looks at Matthew and thinks about Hannibal's visit. Anger prickles over his nape and washes through him, but it's sluggish and slow at first. Will is tired; Beverly's memory is an open wound and Hannibal's presence had been a pointed handful of salt right over it. He's not yet recovered from it, but he does have one pleasant memory out of the whole thing, and it had been the curl of anger on Hannibal's face upon seeing Matthew's marks. Will draws in a slow, audible breath and then lets it out again. He doesn't sit up, but Matthew has his attention.

"Aren't those tapes sealed?" Will asks. "But then, I suppose the security feed's not supposed to cut out for our conversations either, is it? I assume we're all alone then? No Frederick to eavesdrop?"

* * *

The lock clicks. The dim lighting from the hall lets Matthew see Will well enough. Will's undoubtedly been pining and fuming after the eventful morning. Matthew can relate to the fuming, but not the pining. He lets himself in; he's the man with the keys after all. That Will chooses to remain on the cot is fine with him. He doesn't need Will kneeling or standing for him. He's seen that kind of shit in pornos, but he's not sure if he would like it in the real world.

"Sealed, schmealed," Matthew parrots with a twist of his lips. He has his means and methods and everytime he gets away with something he gets a little more cocky and why shouldn't he? He knows the ins and outs better than Chilton. "And I wouldn't be dropping by and foregoing protocol if we weren't 'all alone,' come on, man. I'm not an idiot."

He shakes his head in a dismissive way before striding over and making to sit on the edge of the cot. Will has to shuffle closer to the wall to make room. Matthew sits halfway down the mattress.

"Gonna jerk you off. Never touched another guy's dick before. I figure I should try it out," Matthew explains, no shame in his voice. He assumes it won't be that much different than touching his own. Definitely not rocket science. He'll be fine and it gives them both more ammunition against Lecter. It would make a nice story to retell.

* * *

Will watches the man step into the cell and glances towards the door impassively. He'd get out of the block, maybe, if he ran for it, but it'd only be a matter of time before one of the guards tracked him down. Innocent men don't run, but desperate ones do. Will doesn't know if he's desperate yet. For a curious moment, Will wonders what Matthew would do were he to stay precisely where he is instead. It's clear he's expected to move in order to make room for Matthew to sit, and a detached, vindictive side of Will wants to force him to kneel, or to sit on the floor, or simply remain standing. Would Matthew lose his patience? Hit him? Possibly. Will gives it a serious level of consideration before the self-destructiveness implodes upon itself and he simply sighs. It's not worth it. Matthew Brown is an unstable compound, ready to go up at any moment. Will has to handle him carefully, at least until he's free.

He moves closer to the cold wall and feels the chill seep through the thin clothes he wears. Predictably, Matthew takes a seat and Will turns his attention to him fully. He doesn't comment on Matthew not being an idiot. Given the proximity to a man as unstable as Will Graham, every second he spends in Will's orbit is _very_ idiotic. It'll be Matthew's funeral when everything goes up in smoke.

The announcement of intentions does get Will's attention though. His focus reforms on the present moment and he looks at Matthew quietly, one eyebrow lifting though his expression remains almost the same. He'd not been expecting _that_.

"Are you, now?"

The thought of a man's hand on his dick doesn't thrill him, but it doesn't repulse him either. Will's indifferent, at least until he lets himself think about Hannibal finding out. That little curl of his lip, the flicker of _danger_ in his eyes... the possession he hadn't intended to let Will see-- _that_ is something that gets Will's attention. Even so, he's surprised to feel an anticipating warmth settle lower in his body and even more surprised that it's thoughts of _Hannibal's_ anger causing it. Will shifts, somewhat disturbed by the sudden revelation, but he can't deny his apparent attraction to the idea, now. He wets slightly chapped lips.

"Okay... yeah, sure. But what do _you_ get out of this? You can bite again," Will suggests offhandedly, "if you want."

* * *

Will glances up at him and Matthew considers the older man's looks. Will is kind of scruffy with the somewhat patchy beard and the wild curls from hair that's gone too long without a proper trim, but he is decently good looking. Probably looks too young clean shaven. Matthew agrees with his assessment from last night that Will is pretty for a guy - not in an androgynous sort of way where he could possibly pass as a female, but Will has delicate features about him. He also has a pretty mouth. Matthew could get behind fucking that mouth. On a purely physical level Matthew isn't attracted to Will Graham, but Lecter sees something in him. Will can get into the heads of killers - that shit's cool - it's worth the exploration. He wants to play with these two, fuck 'em both up.

"Eager to get more bruises to show off, huh?" Matthew asks with a smirk. He doesn't respond to Will's question. Will doesn't get to know the _why_ behind his actions. Matthew shifts, turning to Will more as he reaches out and begins unbuttoning the jumpsuit. Will has an undershirt on, but that can stay put. He plans on leaving a mark much lower this time. Will has to lift off the mattress to work the jumpsuit sleeves off and Matthew isn't especially gentle as he yanks the bottom half down to expose the standard white cotton boxers.

"You're pretty for a guy, you ever been fucked by one before?"

It makes sense to ask, best to know if Will is experienced in this at all. Matthew's hand comes to the band of the boxers and he folds it back enough to reveal the jut of Will’s hip bone. When Will answers, Matthew bites his claim into the previously unmarked skin, leaving a mark that should last a while. He can't wait for Lecter to know how much further he's got with Will Graham.

* * *

Will doesn't answer. Not the first part at least. He just looks at Matthew, at the hunger in his eyes that might not entirely be for him, and Will allows himself to glean a few small flickers of intent. ( _I'm so much better, I know what I'm doing, this is **my** doing, they'll remember me) _ before he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. He doesn't grimace but it's a close thing. Matthew Brown feels like ice under his skin. Other killers Will had become have felt different. Some have been hot and purposeful, others meek and filled with remorse, some prideful and boastful, and Matthew falls under the latter category. Save there's something purely narcissistic about him, about this. It isn't slimy, but it _is_ a markedly cold, uncomfortable feeling that Will immediately wants to wipe away.

The distraction of Matthew's hands at the buttons of the jumpsuit give Will pause but he soon relaxes into it. He's given his permission, and this isn't about Matthew. This is about making Hannibal _pay_ in the only way Will can. He swallows down his uncertainty and grabs his righteousness and allows it to calm him. Only then does he move, sitting up just a little so as to free his arms from the suit, and then he lays back down and obediently lifts his hips as Matthew jerks the dark fabric down. Will grimaces; Matthew is significantly stronger than he looks, but he doesn't let it unnerve him. Instead he watches, anticipation and uncertainty vying for top spot as Matthew's hand moves to the waistband of his boxers and eases them down just enough to expose his hip.

The question is personal enough that Will scoffs quietly, but what in his life isn't personal? Everything he's ever been is public record, and he's already given Matthew permission to touch him. Is fucking him really that different? (Yes, yes it fucking _is_ , but he isn't going to think about that until he has to). Instead he sighs and shakes his head.

"No. They're not exactly lining up in droves--" And just like that, teeth find his hip and Will breaks off with a sudden, sharp hiss that draws the word 'droves' out into something far sharper. He jolts and bites out a quick, clipped, " _ah, fuck!"_ before his hand grips at the side of the bench, knuckles white. Will grits his teeth as pain flares, but under the shock, he feels only satisfaction. The bite will bruise if it hasn't broken skin, and it's exactly what he wants. Breathing a little harder, Will grimaces and, shakily, he finishes his thought.

"Ev-even if they were, I'm straight."

* * *

There's no way for Matthew to know that with direct eye contact, Will can connect more strongly and have a greater understanding of the inner workings of a mind. There's been a lot of speculation about what Will Graham can do, but Freddie Lounds came across as a nosy bitch who didn't actually know all that much - at least when it came to Will Graham. Matthew can't trust what's been written in the tabloids. He wants to find out, but he's not going to go blow his load prematurely and ask everything at once. He's _not_ an idiot.

Will's reaction to the bite is priceless. The guy's expressive - something Matthew actually likes in a chick. He wants to make Will curse more, to get him fucking squirming around like a sadistic child playing with a worm on the sidewalk. All in good time. He lifts away from Will's hip and sees him gripping the edges of the cot and Matthew smiles at the admission.

"Straight, huh?" Matthew echoes back, appraising Will's newly bruised skin. He'll leave more after he thinks. "I've always been straight too, but maybe things aren't so black and white. Guess we'll both see."

With that stated, Matthew wastes no more time and goes for Will's mostly soft dick, slipping it out of the fly. Matthew doesn't have any strong feelings about it either way. It's a dick, not _his_ dick and not even an erect one. Whatever. Matthew wraps his fingers around it and his other hand reaches out, the tips of his index and middle finger applying pressure on the most recent bite mark. Bit of pleasure mixed with pain.

"How'd you like showing Lecter the bruises today?" Matthew then asks conversationally as he starts to jerk Will off, hoping to get him hard sooner than later. He really doesn't have all night.

* * *

The moment the admission leaves Will's lips, he knows how ridiculous it sounds. _I'm straight_. Said to the _guy_ about to jerk him off. The bite to his hip aches and Will can feel the pain bleed out into the surrounding area and he's just silently going to chalk his words up to a momentary lapse in judgement. He's fully expecting a snort, or some snide sort of comment when Matthew draws away, but much to Will's (somewhat breathless, pained) surprise, there's no mockery. There's just a calm response, almost thoughtful, and Will doesn't know why but he almost feels like laughing hysterically until the real emotion burning underneath comes out. His repressed scream is still there, and he feels like he's flash-frozen his anguish so he can walk on its surface, but the ice is nowhere near as thick in some places as it is in others. He'll break through eventually, but not now. Will silently locks anything else away.

Matthew helps, though he doesn't have any idea _that_ he's helped. Small sparks of pain radiate from his bitten hip as he feels an idle pressure against his crotch and he glances down, watching dispassionately as Matthew works his cock from the fabric surrounding it. That he's even mildly hard is honestly a surprise to Will, though his expression doesn't change. He just watches as Matthew's hand - rougher, callused and dry - wraps around his mostly-soft dick and begins to work it slowly. There's sensation, sharp in places, uncomfortable in others, but regardless of how little Will is invested in this, it's still a hand that isn't his, willingly jerking him off. In a detached sort of way it feels good, though for some reason it feels better when Matthew touches the bruise he'd left behind. Will grunts, grimacing a little, but his cock does begin to harden more.

Will's not expecting the question and he startles slightly, glancing back over at Matthew before deciding that looking at the guy jerking him off is a little too weird even for him. Breathing a little rougher, Will swallows and lifts his arm, draping the back of his wrist over his forehead. It offers him the illusion of privacy without shielding his expression. Somehow he knows Matthew wants to _see_ him.

"You saw the tapes. You know I liked it. Just like I know that you liked that he saw the marks. He wants to kill you," Will adds almost conversationally, but the mention of Hannibal _has_ made a difference. He wets his lips. "But... he won't. Not now. Because I told him not to." Somehow Will is certain. Hannibal won't risk it. Will is too valuable to him to risk it. Malleable steel, honed, hardened edges... Will swallows and closes his eyes, thinking back on the brief flicker of fury that had passed Hannibal's expression. He thinks of the curled lip, of the spark of something _other_ he'd seen, and his breathing hitches at Matthew's next stroke.

"I liked showing him he doesn't _own_ me," Will says lowly, and shivers, his cock slowly hardening more in Matthew's hand.

* * *

Granted, it's a little weird to be starting off with a half-limp dick, but Matthew doesn't make any comment about it. He takes it as a personal challenge. If Will is straight (or mostly because he knows there's some sparks with Lecter and him) it's not like Matthew can expect him to be hard easily or immediately. His hand squeezes gently, encouraging Will to harden in his hand. He presses his fingers in harder, helping his bruise along.

Matthew doesn't give a shit about labels. He knows if anyone were to call him a faggot or a fairy, he would kick their ass. Plain and simple. He doesn't take shit from anyone. Gay, bisexual - it doesn't really matter to him. Whatever Will wants to call himself doesn't matter either. He's not here to play sex therapist. Fucking around with Will Graham is simply furthering his game. He wants to get closer to Lecter, to the infamous Chesapeake Ripper, and he wants to see if Lecter _was_ right - if Will is actually a killer. They'd placed a bet anyway - one that he'd offered up - and Lecter hadn't been able to refuse.

He catches Will's eyes briefly, but perhaps Will decides eye contact is too much and looks away, even half-hiding under his forearm. Matthew's hand stalls for a moment at the mention of Hannibal Lecter wanting to kill _him_... Either Lecter sees him as a threat, or he's simply underestimating him. Both avenues are interesting in their own way. He continues his confident, lazy strokes, but things get more interesting when Will adds on that he told Lecter _not to_.

Has Will put a muzzle on Lecter? Does it come equipped with a collar and leash too? Matthew gives Will an appraising look. He's honestly impressed. Will's cock is _finally_ getting harder which also pleases Matthew.

"Sounds like _you_ own him if anything," he chuckles, eyes glinting. "Got a muzzle on him and everything. You're getting harder just thinking about it."

* * *

Will can feel himself hardening, can feel the telltale tightness and flush of heat and sensitive ache that accompanies a physical response. He's not got off once since arriving to the BSHCI. Night emissions, sure; his body is still functioning, but Will's mind is a whirlpool of stress and anger and has been since his admission. It's not a great state of mind for anything sexual, and besides... Will has no desire to be watched. Chilton would love that, wouldn't he? Being privy to the most private of moments without getting his hands dirty. Will feels a curl of anger surrounding Chilton's very existence but the steady stroking of Matthew's hand offers a decent distraction.

Breathing a little rougher as pleasure and pain intertwine into something markedly better, Will tips his head back as much as he can, the long necklace of deep red bruises that Matthew had bitten and sucked into his skin the night before peeking from over the top of his undershirt. Hannibal had seen only a fraction of them. Despite what had happened after, despite Hannibal's lack of remorse, his _pride_ , he'd been hurt. He'd been livid. Will had grasped at an open flame with both hands and held it to his skin and the fire hadn't burned him. The thought of having that level of control is silently thrilling and he finds himself biting his lower lip as Matthew looks down at him, a shiver sliding through him.

The words - that _he owns Hannibal_ \- are enough to draw a slightly hitched sound from his throat. Power curls quietly within Will's chest at the thought. He wants to see Hannibal frowning, to see him hurt, to see a rage Hannibal would never allow himself to show. He wants to see Hannibal _wounded_ like Will has been, to see him hurt and frustrated and angry and _human_ and he's not exactly certain why _this_ thought is what makes him harder, but it does. Matthew's strokes are suddenly better, his dick filling out and becoming more sensitive. The calluses and roughness are uncomfortable but it just adds to it, and the mention of a _muzzle_ makes Will shiver with a soft, " _fuck_ ," in the back of his throat.

It seems almost sacrilege to imagine Hannibal in anything but his best, but the thought of Hannibal wearing the bite-guard mask, of _him_ restrained, eyes burning... Will can't help a softer groan, his hips finally rolling up into Matthew's touch.

* * *

Matthew Brown can understand revenge. Someone hurts or betrays you? You respond in kind. You punish them in turn. You hurt them back. If they dared to fuck you over, you fuck them over worse. You make a name for yourself -- that you aren't some weak-ass pussy. Once a girlfriend had got wasted at a party and cheated on him. The morning after she'd confessed immediately and begged for forgiveness. Matthew had given her a hug and a stone faced nod. Next weekend he'd let her find him fucking her roommate and friend, delivering his own payback. Last he heard she ended up moving out. Good. Served that bitch right.

So, Matthew is much more sympathetic to Will's plight. He supports the desire for revenge over trying to _forgive_. And anyway, forgiveness is overrated. Sometimes people just deserve what's coming to them and Hannibal Lecter obviously fits into that category. Pompous ass. Framing Will, but wanting to be friends still? Missing him? And then planning on getting the guy out? Yeah, great plan. Genius. Fucking idiot was in love with Will -- it had to be love to have him be so reckless.

Matthew watches as Will's body gradually responds to his touch. Will leans his head back, he breathes faster and his cock is finally hardening. Matthew's hand doesn't increase its pace, he's steady in his grip and rhythm. The curse that Will gives is a bit sexy and Will's hips lift off, seeking more and Matthew watches this all with interest.

"Good," he murmurs, encouraging. "Good. Think about telling him... Sharing how I unbuttoned your jumpsuit and pulled out your dick and touched you 'till you got hard." He pauses and lets his thumb rub against the slit on Will's tip to vary the sensation up a bit. "He wants you so much Will. He's gonna be pissed that I've touched you first."

At some point, he's gotten half-hard himself from this all. Matthew stops pressing on the bruise and reaches for Will's closest hand and he places it on his clothed dick. "Got me hard just thinking about it. Touch me. Rub it."

* * *

There's no way to know whether or not Hannibal actually wants Will like _this_ , but Will knows he's at least possessive. The ring of bites along his throat and clavicle are red and sore and they'd pulled a near-snarl from Hannibal's expression before he'd been able to hide it. His response had been to immediately threaten to _end_ Will's new 'friends'. That speaks of possessiveness at the very least and though Will finds it hard to even think of Hannibal Lecter as a sexual being, he can't deny that Matthew is probably right. For some fucking reason, Hannibal probably wants him. Maybe he wants his mind, or his friendship, or his body, but Will has power in that Hannibal wants _him_. He can't have what he wants unless _Will_ is the one to relent and the power is tantalizing for a man who has so little.

Why a man like Hannibal would want _him_ is a mystery, but it likely has something to do with his empathy. Will dwells on it long enough to almost lose that small spark of arousal - hurt and grief for what has been 'lost' threaten to rear up but then Matthew's voice sounds and unknowingly drags him back on track. Matthew wants him to think about telling Hannibal, about telling him about _this_ , and the thought of seeing that flicker of rage again, of maybe seeing more is too good. Will does as he'd been told. Will thinks of Hannibal's knuckles whitening on the arms of his goddamn office chair and of his skin flushing in anger and _hurt,_ and his cock throbs in Matthew's hand, his hips lifting again to push his dick up into the tunnel of his fist. It should be fucked up that this is what's getting him off, but it makes sense. Sex and power have always been closely tied and Will wants Hannibal to hurt.

The slide of Matthew's thumb over his slit has him shaking, but the words - that Hannibal is going to be pissed that he wasn't the first man to touch Will like this - are what have him biting back a whine.

"Too fucking bad for him," he says shakily. "I'm not letting _him_ touch me right now. That's all you." Wetting his lips, Will almost drifts back into his own head then, feeling comforted by the wrist he has over his eyes still. That is... he begins to drift back until suddenly Matthew's hand takes his own and Will blinks at the sudden exposure, his wrist gone from his forehead. His hand connects with cheap, thin fabric instead and he feels heat and an oddly familiar hardness that isn't his own. One glance is all it takes for him to catch up. To his credit, despite a few protests that come to mind, none of them last. Instead Will just swallows and nods, and he doesn't need to be told twice to touch. His hand presses between Matthew's legs over his growing hardness and Will rubs, pressing his palm to the hard line of it and undulating his hand the way he likes.

* * *

Touching another guy's dick is a bit weird, but it's not like it's some life-altering thing either. It's a lot less complicated than a chick at any rate. Matthew simply touches Will how he knows _he_ likes being touched. Finding Will Graham had been Matthew's life-changing moment - a path diverging for him to take. He's on a different journey now, the road less traveled or whatever bullshit and he feels more alive than he ever has before. He has a renewed purpose, a reason for being. He doesn't have it all planned out, but he was just getting started, situating himself in the game with the other players as it were.

Matthew delights in the obvious pleasure that his words have drawn out, smile widening at Will's hips lifting up. He likes this Will Graham - this man who is so angry and desperate that he will let another man touch him just to get back at the perpetrator. Will is seeking revenge, grasping at power and no longer content to merely be a victim. Matthew wants to be a part of this. He wants to see just how depraved and ruthless Will can get and he's going to help Will in any way he can. _Hawks_ together, for now.

When Will complies Matthew sighs and spreads his legs wider. The pressure feels good, but knowing that he's ordered Will and that Will's _obeying_ feels better. "Yeah, that's good," Matthew says and pushes into Will's touch with a groan following. That he's never messed around with another patient before adds another layer of excitement to the experience. He grips Will's dick tight and starts stroking quicker. "I think Lecter would watch us if you invited him," Matthew says. He then chuckles at the thought.

* * *

Technically this isn't complicated. Women are far more complicated, not that Will's been with one for a long time, but comparatively his hand on Matthew's clothed dick is simple. He knows what he likes and it's working fine for Matthew if the groan is any indication. The sound does give Will pause - a small twist of uncertainty and _odd_ because it's not what he's familiar with, but he feels oddly satisfied by it as well. Women are softer, their voices higher, sounds breathier, but the sound Matthew makes rumbles through him and seems to cut the air. Will idly wonders if it bleeds, but his thoughts are quickly interrupted by the hand around his own cock tightening and stroking faster.

It's not entirely comfortable. Were he alone and doing this, he'd have likely spat on his hand or found _something_ , but the rougher friction sets this apart. This isn't _his_ hand. This is Matthew's, and the more Will uses it, the more incensed Hannibal will be later. The thought has heat settling low and Will groaning in the back of his throat, his breathing a little more ragged, his cock fully hard now and flushed. But the very notion of Will inviting (demanding) that Hannibal _watch_ has Will's own pace faltering. He forgets to move his hand for a second, the image superimposed in the back of his mind. It's intense enough to almost embarrass him, the thought of Hannibal actually _seeing_ him like this. But it's an old impulse from a friendship with a man who never existed.

The Hannibal Lecter who would see this is not Will's friend. He's not gentle or understanding or kind. There's no support to be found there; it's all been a game, and Will is fine with returning the favor. So he pictures the rage - would there be longing too? Fuck, maybe - and Will curses under his breath, snapping his hips up against Matthew's tighter fist. He thinks about what would enrage Hannibal the most and it's with that in mind that Will finally moves his own hand, somewhat clumsily, to the button of Matthew's white pants.

"Then let's give him a show. Can I?"

* * *

They were all going to have some fucked up times. Fucking around is one thing, but Matthew has other plans for them both. He'll become Will's friend and unlike Lecter, he's never lied to Will. He hasn't hurt or betrayed Will. Sure, he hadn't killed Hannibal Lecter - he could have - but Hannibal Lecter is the one that's going to get Will off the hook and out of here. He knows that Will escaping Chilton's Crazy Castle is more important than Lecter's death.

Matthew looks between his hand working Will's dick and Will's face. Will is fully hard now and Matthew's actually pleased. Will's hand rubbing at him feels good, not quite enough, but it's _something_. It's been a decent while since he's fucked around with a woman so any attention at this point is welcome and better than his own touch. His comment about Lecter watching has Will noticeably affected, his hand stuttering and stopping for a moment. Matthew smirks. Will is a pervert. He likes it. He likes that he can see Will thinking about the little scene, hips his greedily pushing up, seeking.

Will's hand moving to his button has Matthew's eyes widening in surprise. Turns out he's underestimated Will. He hadn't expected that Will would be this assertive. After all, Will could simply lie about reciprocating, but this is much more exciting and Matthew isn't going to be complaining. Will wants more ammunition to use against Hannibal Lecter and that's fine by him.

"Yeah, hang on," he answers.

Not wanting to allow for any one-hand fumbling on Will's part, Matthew stops stroking him off. He pushes Will's hand away, undoes the button, drags the zipper down and pulls out his dick through his boxers himself. Next, he takes Will's hand and places it on his cock. His own hand wraps around Will's and moves it. It should probably feel stranger to have a dude's hand directly on his dick, but given the context it really doesn't. Matthew squeezes Will's hand on his cock and sighs at the sensation.

"We're going to fuck him up, yeah? You and me," Matthew murmurs. His words are a promise. "I want to look him in the eye while I fuck you, Will."

* * *

There's a small voice in the back of his mind, an old voice of reason that says he's already going too far, but Will had gone too far the moment he'd told Matthew to kill Hannibal. That it's not been done has left him scrambling for something else and right now, in this moment, there's nothing else Will has. Legally he owns nothing, not while in these walls. He has no leverage except what he knows, and what he _knows_ is that Jack Crawford doesn't believe him, Alana Bloom doesn't believe him, and Beverly Katz made the _mistake_ of believing him. He won't be sending another lamb into the wolf's den, not when Will knows exactly what the wolf _wants_. There's power in this, in using himself as his own leverage, and so despite his orientation (he's never questioned it before, but does it matter?) there's a real thrill of pleasure when Matthew agrees and knocks Will's hand away.

He waits, ruminating quietly over an odd feeling of anxiety and trepidation that is a whisper against the scream in his mind. It exists but it has the same force as a butterfly's wings against a gale. Instead, with thoughts of Hannibal's rage in mind, with thoughts of taking control _back_ , Will watches as Matthew undoes his pants and pulls his cock out. The only thought Will has aside from the fact that it's just a dick is that Matthew doesn't have anything to compensate for, and then his hand is being guided over and he draws in a sharper breath as his fingers curl over warm, almost silken skin that is uncanny valley levels of familiar. Will wets his lips and he's almost relieved that Matthew starts to guide him. He observes, looking from Matthew's dick up to his face and then back down again.

Matthew Brown is not a stable man. He's currently in a position of power, has staked his own fucked up claim, and yet Will can't deny a twisted sensation of camaraderie in this moment.

"You and me," he confirms, his voice barely a mumble as he watches where Matthew's hand squeezes over his. As unstable as Matthew is, can Will claim to be any better? They've both killed. They're both getting off on thoughts of hurting Hannibal. How different are they?

The thought has a few moments to drift over his mind before Matthew makes that final addition.

"You-- _fuck_..." Will isn't expecting the heat that races through him. He's expecting the frisson of fear - and that's _definitely_ there. While he'd not had any real thought about Matthew's dick before, knowing that he intends to fuck him later makes it suddenly seem massive in his hand. There is _no_ way... but then... that's a problem for later, as for some reason the heat that tears through him is far easier to focus on. Will groans and Matthew isn't even fucking touching him. The thought of denying Hannibal, of actually making him watch... it's fucked up, but it's good, and Will suddenly props himself up on his free elbow. He flexes his hand, doing what he can to shake Matthew's off, and his voice is rougher when he says, "I got it," and begins to jerk Matthew off exactly as he'd been shown. It's weird and it's not really something he gets much out of, but he knows what it feels like and the thought of Hannibal's expression later makes it worthwhile.

"I'd let you. Fuck me, I mean. You and me, right?"

* * *

 _'You and me'_ Will echoes in confirmation to him. It's a strange idea to have an ally of sorts. Maybe in time they'd even be friends. It's a possibility even though Matthew doesn't really _do_ friends. He never has anyway. When he was younger he'd sort of been the ringleader of a group of boys, but looking back at it he thinks the little shits only hung out with him because they were _afraid_ of him. So, he'd been a little bit of a bully back then, but still it pissed him off.

But he doesn't think Will is scared of him. Will may be desperate, but he isn't stupid. Matthew can see the wariness. He can see how Will has his guard up even though his dick might be out. Will is on edge, but at least that shows that Will _respects_ him enough to consider him a threat on some level. Respect's important as a man, that's what _his_ old man claimed at any rate.

His little parting comment of wanting to fuck Will... has an interesting effect on the man himself. Will looks a little shocked, but a little hot 'n bothered by it too. Pretty damn interesting. Either Will's not so straight after all or Hannibal gets to him _that much_ because Will actually groans at the idea. The sound makes Matthew feel a little hotter even. Will sounds pretty sexy for a guy. He's fucked a girl up the ass before - just once - but it'd been pretty awesome. He assumes it will feel just as good with Will and even better if Lecter was watching. Yeah, it was petty on one hand, but maybe he's always been a bit of an exhibitionist at heart.

When Will takes initiative again, Matthew grins in response. Will's hand takes over without his aide and Matthew returns to his former task.

_'I'd let you. Fuck me, I mean. You and me, right?'_

Matthew's eyes narrow as he looks at Will's face, looking at his pupil's for any signs of deception. He doesn't see any. Matthew licks his lips and nods.

"We'll make sure to give him a good show," he finally says, his hand quickening on Will's dick. "Just imagine if I were to bend you over his desk and have him behind it, Will. Shit, man. You could look up at and watch his expression as I pushed into you." Matthew also imagines it and he stares at Will as he continues.

"You'd still be dressed, just your boxers and pants around your ankles. Your arms across the top of the desk and hands grasping the ledge closest to Lecter. I'd be behind you, pushing my cock into you while he watched your face. Goddammit, I bet you'd feel really good. Perfect and tight. I know you'd try to clench your jaw and be quiet, but I'd make sure to fuck you hard enough that you couldn't help the sounds you make. The desk would shake. He'd be watching you. Pissed. Jealous. Trying so hard not to show any of it. Maybe he'd even get a boner from us. Just you and me."

* * *

Matthew's hand slides back over and wraps around his cock and Will feels the tug of pleasure low and sharp. Is it fucked up? Yeah, yeah, this whole thing is fucked up. He's a man who routinely sees blood dripping from the walls and can feel the heavy weight of antlers on his head when his thoughts shift in a different direction. He's not the kind of man people go home with even for a quick fuck, so it's been an age since he's had a hand on him that isn't his own. Hell, it's been an age since he's had his hand on himself; seeing and experiencing the emotions and desires of the most mentally deranged people on the planet doesn't leave him feeling in the mood often (except when it does and the disgust is palpable). So this - Matthew's hand dry and stroking - is as good as it is fucked up.

Will shivers when he feels Matthew looking at him, undoubtedly checking to see if Will is being serious about the whole _fucking_ thing. It's manipulative. Does he _want_ a guy's dick up his ass? Not really, no. He knows it's possible because so many guys do enjoy it, but it's never been something he's wanted. But then, he's never wanted a guy's hand around his dick before either. Desperation can drive people to many things and right now Will is desperate. He wants Hannibal to _hurt_. If it means he needs to let Matthew Brown fuck him, he'll do it. If there's even the slightest of chances that Hannibal wants it, Will intends to give it away first. He's not deceiving Matthew now; Will has no other options. It is just him and Matthew. Will's not going to find support anywhere else.

Hannibal burned that bridge when he tried to frame Will for murder and killed Will's only ally.

Anger twists hot in his chest because anger is so much easier than grief. His hand squeezes Matthew's dick the way he'd been shown and when Matthew starts to detail a fantasy to him (because there's no way it could really happen, not in Hannibal's office) Will considers protesting and then just gives in. He lets Matthew paint the scene, lets the words and images wash over him as pleasure coils hot inside. The thought of being bent over and fucked doesn't do anything for him, but the thought of having Hannibal watching and enraged does. He closes his eyes and bites his lip as the scene bleeds out like watercolor behind his eyes. He has no frame of reference for what being fucked feels like so he just imagines the feeling of sex instead. The thought of Hannibal watching him and _wanting_ and not allowed to touch, the thought of the flicker of rage and the curl of his lip like he'd seen earlier... it melds into a deep throb of pleasure, resulting in a breathier curse that falls from Will's lips. In Matthew's hand, his cock is leaking, precome beading at the tip and running down as his hips twitch and skin flushes. The scene is surprisingly accurate. Will knows he'd try to keep quiet, try to not give either of them the satisfaction, but the thought of Hannibal hearing him anyway, the thought of him wanting and the thought of him hard--

Will groans in the back of his throat, tight, his muscles tensing visibly. He's not expecting the flare of visceral, bitter pleasure that courses through him at the thought of denying Hannibal.

" _Fuck._ Yeah," Will grinds out. "You could bite. I want you to again, before I'm out of here. Before I see him again. I-- f-fuck, I'm close."

* * *

While _he's_ never taken anything up his ass, Matthew's heard that it could be good for guys - the whole prostate thing or whatever. He's had anal sex once and it felt amazing for him, so it's easy enough to apply doing it to Will. A hole's a hole, after all. And there's something just kind of hot about fucking another _guy_ , like it's a conquest because most men probably wouldn't want or allow it. Is it fucked up? Sure, but what he's entering into with Will _is_ already fucked up, so why sweat it? This is only par for the course.

He watches Will with interest as he delivers his fantasy. Maybe Will's straight - mostly straight -whatever, but when Hannibal is mentioned, Will is noticeably more turned on. Mentioning Lecter is what got Will hard to begin with. It could be from the power, from the knowledge of denying Lecter what he craves, or maybe it's empowering to fight back and Will's discovered a sadistic glee at the idea of hurting Lecter. As far as Matthew is concerned those are all good things to become aroused by), but he has a sneaking suspicion that there's some base level of attraction that Will has toward Hannibal. There's a draw, something that dangles between them, and it's gotta be _more_ than friendship because Will is going to such lengths. It's telling in a way. Matthew wouldn't go this far to exact revenge against a pseudo friend/therapist.

Will's dick starts to leak. This is more proof. Matthew isn't exactly offended that _he's_ not the cause. Will's mostly straight and Matthew _is_ straight. The only experience he has with a cock is jerking himself off and it's he'll use whatever means necessary to make it good. When he mentions Hannibal getting a boner from them, Will groans and tenses. Getting such a reaction - _being_ _right_ \- has Matthew licking his lips and getting closer to his own orgasm. They don't have the time to draw shit out so Matthew hardly cares if it's quick. Imagining fucking Will in front of Lecter, in his office is _hot_. A man like Lecter probably doesn't get denied much. He'd hate it.

"I'll bite the shit out of you, Will, wherever you want," Matthew promises and his hand continues its stroking. "Just think of showing him the marks. Picture his reaction. You'll be out of here, but he still can't have you. Can't touch you..." Matthew's thoughts are all over the place as he feels the pleasure get sharper, his hips thrusting up every once in awhile.

"I bet he'd let you come all over his face, over the expensive fancy suits too."

* * *

Will doesn't care about how much time has or hasn't passed; if they're caught (and they won't be) it won't be his ass on the line. For some reason, Matthew Brown has decided that Will is worth a risk he hasn't earned, and Will isn't about to shake a stick at that loyalty. Oh, he's dangerous but Will isn't afraid of him. He has a healthy respect for particular types of crazy, and Matthew isn't the most stable of men, but it doesn't matter. He's here, he's made himself an ally Will hadn't expected, and Will doesn't have enough people in his corner to be picky right now. All he can do is trust; it's not like Matthew can fuck him over more than Hannibal already has, so he's got literally nothing to lose.

Hannibal, however... Hannibal has a lot to lose, and the thought has Will breathless, pleasure curling low in his stomach as Matthew's hand jerks over his dick. He's not been touched in months. That he's close isn't surprising (but that he's close over thoughts of Hannibal's anger _is_ ). More out of courtesy than anything, Will forces his eyes open and looks over at Matthew. He's rapt with attention, green eyes dark, and his gaze feels like a heavier, almost uncomfortable weight until Will drops his own down to his hand on Matthew's cock, watching with a surprising frisson of arousal as Matthew thrusts up against Will's hand. Will tightens his own hold a little in response and wets his lips, but he's too far gone to hope to last much longer.

When Matthew talks again, promising to bite him, telling Will to think about Hannibal seeing the bites, Will can't help but give in and close his eyes again. He bites his lower lip, desperate pleasure coiling tight like a spring. He tries to picture the anger, the jealousy, but all that comes back to him is the flicker of rage and the small curl of Hannibal's lip earlier that day. It had been visceral and _real_ , and Will's breathing stutters, his rhythm failing. And then Matthew deepens the fantasy. He talks about Will coming over that curl of a snarl and Hannibal's fucking expensive suit. The mental image is perverse and degrading and he thinks Hannibal might actually let him _do it_ and Will's voice catches in a desperate sound that is half-moan, half-whine before pleasure surges through him.

He has the presence of mind to jerk his hand off of Matthew's cock, his hand grabbing fitfully at the open line of Matthew's pants instead for purchase as his hips arc off the cot and he comes so hard he sees spots. Will gasps sharply, sounding almost pained as he snaps his hips up against Matthew's hand, streaking it and the damn hospital-issue undershirt with lines of his come. He bites his lip hard enough to almost bleed, and when the pleasure begins to abate, when the touch begins to edge into too much, he gasps out, "enough, stop," and pushes at Matthew's hand.

He's not so far gone as to forget what this is, though. Will has a goal. He could lie to Hannibal, could tell him he'd jerked Matthew off and just not do it, but Will ignores the impulse. Instead, breathless, panting, he shakily knocks Matthew's hand away and gathers up some of his own come on a whim.

"Don't fucking complain," he warns, and then he moves back over and takes hold of Matthew's cock, wrapping his hand around it and jerking tight and quick. The come makes it easier, and Will doesn't let himself think of how weird this is. "C'mon. Just think about it. I'm giving _you_ what he wants but can't have. You, Matthew."

* * *

Matthew Brown is quite interested in learning more of the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal Lecter - psychiatrist by day, cannibal at the table and killer by night. Interesting fella indeed. Matthew wants to find out how Lecter picks his victims. If he stalks them ever, if he watches what kind of lives they live (if that even _matters_ to him). He wants to know if they show up in dreams. Will seems to be haunted a lot - does anything haunt Hannibal? Has Hannibal ever regretted killing someone? What's his favorite kill? Matthew wants to know how Lecter decides on the tableaus. Does he sketch them out? Picture them in his mind? Questions for later because right now he's got to help a friend out.

He talks about Hannibal Lecter, encouraging Will to focus on how Hannibal would look reacting to this or that. Matthew figures there will be a lot of talking about Lecter in their future. Right now he's their one common interest. Dirty talking, sharing fantasies, whispering slutty things... It's always been a pretty easy thing for Matthew to do. More than a few times he's been told that he has a big mouth and it's no different while in the bedroom. That Will is a guy doesn't matter here. He knows what excites Will, so Matthew focuses on Hannibal Lecter. Such a proper guy had to have a few fucked up kinks anyway. Such a proper guy should also be debased every now and again. It's good for the soul to be knocked down a peg or two. Matthew's had his fair share of knocks in the past and Will certainly has too.

He watches Will close his eyes, visibly affected by his words - biting his lip - and Matthew smirks. His hand continues to pump at Will's dick. He won't stop until Will comes. Which turns out to be soon as the thought of Will coming _on_ Hannibal's face or suit does it, and Will is making a pretty hot sound, kinda like a whine. Will's hand stops to grab at Matthew's pants and Matthew, unashamedly watches Will jizz and make a mess over himself. Matthew's own hand jerks Will's pulsating cock until Will calls it off.

Matthew is pleased as he looks over the provocative picture Will makes. Will is flush, sweaty and now covered in his own come. If they were allowed phones on their person while working, he would have been severely tempted to take a picture of his handiwork. Matthew's nose scrunches up when he sees Will gather some come up and make to go toward _his_ dick. Any protest dies when Will tells him to not complain and starts stroking him again (the come does make it easier).

Matthew nods at Will's words. "You and me," he repeats. The freaks, the outcasts, the ones that society loves to judge and turn their nose at... His mind returns to the fantasy of fucking Will over Hannibal's desk. He pictures making eye contact with Hannibal as he thrusts roughly into Will's body. He hopes Will is a loud bitch for Hannibal. He imagines the rage, the conflict, of not being able to have Will but also not being able to get rid of _him_. Matthew comes a minute later, riding high on feeling invincible. Hannibal Lecter cannot harm him, not when Will Graham has put him off limits.

* * *

It's been a long fucking time since Will's been intimate with anyone, including himself. He can't remember the last time he managed to jerk off. Between prison and the encephalitis and the work for Jack, it's not something that's been a priority as of late, so there's something extra in this exchange. Euphoria burns hot like fire in his veins and even when the strongest pulses of pleasure have abated, Will's left trembling with the aftershocks. It's an odd sensation, his mind feeling sluggish with pleasure while simultaneously feeling clear. It's a driven sensation as he reaches for Matthew's dick and shoots him a quick look of warning to keep his protests to himself.

It's different being _aware_ while jerking a guy off, but it's familiar enough that for a few seconds he can almost imagine it's just his dick. He might not be able to feel it, and the shape is different, but the feel is similar. He's still flushed and still breathless as he focuses on moving his hand. Using his own come seems... intimate, and disgusting, in a sense, but it's better than spitting in his hand. It's not like they have a lot of options here, and Will keeps his focus shifting between his hand on Matthew's dick and quick glances up at his face to make sure he's not grimacing. Will may be straight, but there is something humbling about being allowed to touch someone else, and there's no controlling his empathy. He can feel something twist in sympathy each time Matthew's breath catches, something excited and distracted working through him.

There's no real warning when Matthew comes. Will's hand is quick, but he can feel his arm getting a little tired. He's just considering propping himself up on his elbow and switching hands when suddenly he feels Matthew's dick twitch under his hand and Will glances down. It's... weird seeing another guy come, but he feels the answering twist inside, something hot and satisfied running through him even as Matthew's come shoots out. Because he'd told Matthew not to complain, Will doesn't complain when the guy's come coats his hand. Instead he just makes a lower, satisfied sound in the back of his throat and keeps working Matthew's dick, glancing up at him to make sure he doesn't go too far.

When he thinks his strokes might be crossing the line into oversensitivity, Will slows down, then gives two more longer, coaxing strokes before he draws his hand back. Grimacing a little, he glances around but there's literally nothing else for it. He sluggishly moves back on his cot and levers himself into a seated position, then reaches down to strip his undershirt off. It's the hospital's job to launder the clothing anyway and he'd already come all over it. Will wipes his hand off on the fabric and quickly cleans the last traces of come off of himself. Then he flips it and offers it to Matthew. If there's one thing Will could use now, it's a shower, but he'll have to hold tight on that until the morning. He feels more exposed now, with the ring of bites around his neck and the bite to his hip on full display, his shoulder still bandaged from Jack's bullet.

"I... thanks," Will murmurs, because what else can he say? Talking after sex is always awkward.

* * *

Jizz is jizz, but it does allow Will's hand to slide up his dick easier. Matthew knows he's going to get off. He can last a while if he wants to, but time is something they don't have a lot of. Will being mostly straight, but desperate enough to touch him _and_ go down this road adds a layer of excitement to it all. It's really going to be the serial killer soap opera of a lifetime. So, he thinks about Hannibal, how untouchable _he_ thought he was (but Matthew had got one up on him). He thinks how Hannibal is going to be brought low and desperate by someone like Will Graham. Matthew wants to whisper encouragements into Will's ear, he wants to see Will claim his own power over Lecter.

Pleasure spikes and Matthew tenses, his hips stuttering as he climaxes. He breathes sharply, making no other sound as he comes wetly into Will's hand. And Will's hand doesn't stop. It keeps moving, letting Matthew ride out the waves of bliss as Matthew looks between Will's expression and his hand. (A part of him is still kinda shocked that this has all happened.)

Matthew takes the offered and now dirty undershirt from Will. There's no fanfare or shame when he cleans off his hand and his own dick. He feels satisfied, warm and just _good_. Yeah, it's not the best orgasm he's ever had, yeah it was a mostly straight dude jerking him off, but whatever. It was enjoyable. Feeling good is good; it didn't matter _why_. Maybe this was their equivalent of spitting on the palm before shaking hands in a show of goodwill. The idea has him smirking. A show of goodwill between him and Will. Either way, he feels like they have a better understanding of each other.

"Yeah, thanks," Matthew mutters in return. He's not really interested in talking after sex either, so he puts away his dick and looks at the soiled article that's been dropped to the cot. He'll have to get Will a new undershirt and probably a jumpsuit to be safe. Good thing he has access to all of that.

"I'll get you some clean shit," Matthew offers and with that said, he exits the cell, but does lock it. He's still coming down from his orgasm, legs feeling a bit shaky, but he smooths out his uniform as best he can. Matthew makes quick work of gathering up another jumpsuit and undershirt for Will and returning back. The cell smells like sex, but he kinda likes it. It's _them._ Proof of what they've done together.

"Be seeing you around, Mr. Graham," Matthew says as he slips the articles of clothing to Will.


	3. Freedom and bitterness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's rude to stare," Matthew snaps. That's all it takes for the mother to frown and usher her daughter away from them. Matthew turns back to Will and makes a decision. He reaches out and grabs Will's hip roughly, his thumb coming to push into the last bruise he'd left Will. Pain has helped him concentrate in the past, so it might help Will now. That's what Matthew is hoping for at any rate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ Our favorite Willabean is finally free!  
> Matthew/Hannibal written by merrythought ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Will written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))  
> [ TempestandTeacup](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TempestandTeacup/pseuds/TempestandTeacup) proofread this chapter, ty dear.

Will hears about Abel Gideon through the grapevine. Within the walls of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane everything is monitored and very little happens for no reason. Given that Will doesn't yet know the reason, he doesn't question it. Instead he carries on as he has been, his mind numb, going through the motions. He showers when he's allowed to, he eats, he takes medication he doesn't want, and he's still as the doctors check on the gunshot wound to his shoulder. He's a model patient, though through his conversations with Chilton he can sense that the man is getting scared.

Alana doesn't believe him. Jack doesn't believe him. The only two people alive who believe him about Hannibal Lecter are Matthew Brown and Frederick Chilton. Will might find it amusing were it not so depressing.

Will doesn't talk about Hannibal anymore. It doesn't take a genius to realize that they think he's crazy. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Jack and Alana have no _desire_ to listen to him. So Will settles safely in his bubble, keeps his head down, and takes his evening trays from Matthew Brown with subtle, lingering looks. Matthew doesn't visit him late at night again. Too risky, likely, or the footage splicing takes too much time. Instead, Will focuses on touching the bruises to his hip and his throat when he can and he thinks about how infuriated Hannibal will be.

When Gideon disappears, he's free. It takes a few hours to become known and another hour for it to properly sink in. Hannibal had come through. He doesn't count the days directly but it's almost been a week since the late-night rendezvous with Matthew Brown in his cell when Chilton makes another appearance. There's a vague mention of evidence, a slightly stuttering explanation, and Will gives Chilton advice to come clean as he's given his old clothing back, but he honestly doesn't care. Chilton's dirty, but he's no Chesapeake Ripper. Will just feels sorry for him.

But he doubts that _anyone_ looks as sorry as Jack does. Will doesn't even notice him at first, too busy taking in the silent joy that comes from fastening his goddamn watch without anyone looking at him like he's going to kill someone with it. He's careful as he dresses, mindful of his shoulder. And after picking up a few pills to wean off what they've had him on, he turns and makes for the front door, feeling a little like he's floating, a little like he wants to break down, but mostly... just numb. So when Will sees Jack Crawford waiting for him, he swallows his bitterness, schools his expression, and listens.

 _Miriam Lass_ is the only thing that gets his attention. Jack is apologetic, stressing that there was no way they could have known, that the evidence had been stacked against Will from the beginning -- that from an outside perspective, Will had looked guilty. Will bites his tongue and stares ahead. When it's clear that Jack is looking for an answer, he prompts him about Miriam.

The conversation ends as Will had expected it to. Jack expects him to follow him to a scene - a _Ripper scene_ , which is... tempting. For a moment, Will recklessly wonders just how many bones in his hand he'd break were he to punch Jack right here and now, but he refuses the desire. For a few moments he considers the offer. Jack wants to drive him to the 'shack'. Old desires flare -- an old anxiety that makes Will want to give in immediately and do what Jack wants of him, but the rest of him is so _fucking angry_ that it's hard to think past it.

"I'm tired, Jack," Will says finally, and he injects just enough fatigue into his voice to make a difference. "It's a scene with no body. It'll keep. If it's all the same to you, I've not been home in weeks. I miss my house. I miss my dogs. And I'm sick of yelling into thin air."

"I put Miriam in a room with Hannibal Lecter. She stated definitively that he is not the Chesapeake Ripper."

The knowledge isn't surprising. Will considers smiling but thinks better of it. Of course. Smart of Hannibal. Will wonders if he's had Miriam up his sleeve this whole time. But this only adds more weight to the realization that Jack Crawford is not going to listen to him. (In a way, Will isn't even sure if he wants Hannibal caught anymore. Would that be satisfying? He wants Hannibal Lecter to _pay_ and somehow he thinks that that is going to be much easier with Matthew than it ever would have been with Jack.)

"Was that definitive enough for you?"

"Yes, Will," Jack says, and there's an edge of warning in his tone that makes Will's hackles lift. "It was. Are we going to have a problem?"

Will's lips thin. "I already have a ride," he says immediately, deflecting. It's a bold-faced lie, but his compassion for Jack has eased over the last few weeks. Funny how _getting shot_ takes the love out of a friendship. Then not being believed just adds to it. "I'll be by later tonight or tomorrow. Text me the address and leave a copy of the file with someone you trust. Thanks for stopping by," he adds, flatly. Will makes a show out of fixing his watch and then ducks past Jack. He doesn't look at him, and he doesn't see the look Jack shoots Chilton. All he does is make a beeline right for the reception desk so he can sign out the rest of his belongings. He'll call a cab if he has to, but right now, he's pretty sure he could walk to Wolf Trap if he wanted to. He misses fresh air. He misses freedom. He misses his goddamn _dogs_.

* * *

It's another week where Hannibal finds himself sitting across from an empty chair in his office. The time is 7:34 and normally Will would be here, perhaps not in the chair, for Will preferred to pace at times. But Will would be _with_ him nonetheless. They would have an engaging conversation, Hannibal genuinely intrigued by what lurked in Will Graham's mind and what was brought to the surface to glimpse at. It had been like a treat for Hannibal. By now he should be used to this scene, to the absence of Will Graham, but it's still as unpleasant as the first week of Will's incarceration and subsequent non-attendance during their standing appointment. Hannibal's never been a lonely man, and yet...

He got to have a dash of fun being the new Will Graham. He stood beside Jack Crawford and played with the little team. It was entertaining in its own right, but it hadn't been as rewarding as when Will had shared the details of cases with him privately. Granted, at least the one case hadn't been droll. Hannibal had a certain appreciation for the 'eye of God' mural (but not so much for James Grey himself, or rather his poor outlook).

He gets rid of Abel Gideon. Hannibal Lecter does not suffer any pretenders to his throne. It's satisfying, but he doesn't stop there. He moves his next game piece and events are set into motion. Isley is planted, discovered and uprooted. Hiding amidst the floral arrangement are handcrafted lures with Ripper victims as well as the supposed Copycat Killer's. The Chesapeake Ripper has taken it upon himself to rightfully claim them all. Hannibal tells Jack that he doesn't want to dwell on death anymore. Partially true. He's grown tired of walking in Will Graham’s shoes, he wants the real thing and soon enough Will Graham is going to be a free man. A nosy agent-in-training will also be free. His own songbird is released, sans one wing, but she will be more or less fine.

Not even Hannibal knows what kind of man will be walking out of that cell and into the world.

After Will had pulled down the collar and teased the hint of bruises left from Matthew, Hannibal knew retaliation of some kind was in order. In the past Will Graham had wanted Alana Bloom and been hurt by her subsequent rejection. If Will was going to use Matthew Brown, Hannibal would use Alana Bloom. In the end, it's hardly a challenge to seduce her. When he pretends to make love to her, he thinks of Will. He thinks of Will laying on the sheets, underneath him and spread out. He thinks of taking Will roughly, of knowing him in such a carnal way. He thinks of wrapping his hands around Will and choking him, of the delicious struggle and fight that would ensue between them. He thinks of making Will beg for forgiveness with a scalpel pressed to his throat, Hannibal behind him holding him tenderly while Will played the part of Abigail. But what is the appropriate punishment for somehow managing to get under his skin and leaving him compromised? Hannibal hadn't even been _aware_ that he wanted Will in such a way (every way) until Will had sought to make it abundantly clear that he planned on withholding and exploiting it.

7:47. Hannibal stares at the watch on his wrist. He observes the second hand move in measured increments. His office is silent enough that he can hear each movement. _Tick, tick, tick._ He is conflicted and he loathes to be in a state.

Hannibal wonders what Will has in store for him next. He knows Will wants to hurt him, to exact revenge, and while he can applaud Will's desperation, the knowledge sits a little uncomfortable with Hannibal. Will wanted him dead, but had been limited while locked up. Will would have many more options once released. Now that Chilton is out of the picture, Hannibal assumes Will spending any amount of time with him will be contingent upon Matthew Brown's continued livelihood. It makes sense. The two of them undoubtedly seek to rile him up, to flaunt bruises and conquests. Matthew is reckless and longs for attention and Will is angry and betrayed. Hannibal clenches his jaw and then relaxes. Although there is a small part of him thrilled at the game afoot, Hannibal is mostly irritated.

_Tick, tick, tick._

He unclasps his watch and pulls out from his wrist. He drops it to the floor as he rises. The heel of a polished shoe bears down on the timepiece again and again until he crushes the crystal and the mechanisms contained within are broken. Time stops -- or at least the measurement of it. Hannibal calls Alana and leaves the mess for the morning.

*

Despite what he's planning and waiting for, nothing changes around Matthew. He still has to work and it sucks. He still has bills to pay, chores to do. No one looks at him any differently No one suspects or _knows_. He doesn't give Will Graham any more special visits and he's on his best behavior more or less. Shit gets exciting when Abel Gideon is transferred. Chilton is trying for something, getting all busybody and self-important, but Matthew knows he'll fail. When guards are killed and Gideon is plucked out, Matthew is merely amused. Gideon, for whatever reason, hadn't sold out Lecter, a decision he was probably going to regret. Dumbass.

Matthew sits in his somewhat beat up Corolla. They do discharges before noon, so he's been here waiting for a while, keeping an eye out on the front doors. He sees papa bear Jack Crawford enter and wonders if he's there to snatch up Will and put him back to work. Matthew got the impression Crawford was a bit of a task master. Some time passes before Will Graham exits the hospital and he's _alone_. Matthew smiles and starts his engine, driving over to the recently released man. He pulls up next to Will, passenger window rolled down.

"Need a lift?" he offers. He'll drive Will home, shoot the shit and bond a little. Will's his new friend after all and hawks look out for each other.

* * *

There's nothing particularly special about the day outside. It's somewhat overcast with a bite to the air. It's a little busy this close to noon; Will can hear horns blaring in the distance from where angry drivers are rushing to pick up lunch before the rush to the restaurants and delis. The layer of snow on the ground is a few inches thick. It's just enough to turn the parking lot into a slush-filled brown mess. There are tire imprints and evidence of cars fishtailing even in the small parking lot and the road is streaked white where salt trucks have rumbled by. All in all the day is remarkably dismal with a cold northern wind that catches Will's over-long hair and blows it in his face, but it doesn't stop Will from coming to a full stop directly outside the door, taking in a freedom he'd once doubted he'd ever experience again.

Emotion rises - both grateful and bitter - and for a moment it threatens to choke him with its intensity. Anger spills through his chest like spilled blood and Will almost shakes with it. There's a very real urge to grab his hunting rifle and go after Hannibal immediately, a feral swell of rage in his chest, but despite his anger even he knows that's far too inelegant. It doesn't stop his hands from shaking with the urge to do something, and it doesn't make the air feel any less biting and sharp in his lungs. He distantly notes a few people giving him a wide berth and he can't blame them. He probably looks murderous, or at least manic. They probably take issue with seeing crazy _outside_ the hospital.

It doesn't take long before anger bleeds into gratitude, into emotion. Into Beverly and Hannibal _fucking_ Lecter's promise coming through, and Will feels so achingly torn and isolated. He wants his dogs, he wants to go home, and he wants a stiff drink. The desire for all of it almost chokes him with the same intensity of emotion that the knowledge he's _free_ does. He'll handle Hannibal later. For now he needs to get a grip, needs to call a cab, and needs to get home.

Every step down the stairs outside of the BSHCI has anxiety stirring. There's a small part of him convinced that someone is going to run after him, tell him there's been a change of plans, but with every step Will takes on the slightly-slippery stairs, no one comes after him. He has been well and truly forgotten by the walls of the hospital and Will is maybe a little quicker than he should be as he quickly heads down the stairs.

At first he doesn't even notice the car pulling up. It's a car, it's unobtrusive, and it's not one he recognizes. His mind is stuck on _freedom_ and calling a cab, and getting his dogs back from Alana. So when the car stops at the bottom of the stairs, Will is already turning to step around it when he hears a very familiar voice. Will freezes and then looks over at the car, at _Matthew_ who apparently owns it, and the twist of mixed emotion is sudden and sharp.

Matthew is a reminder of Hannibal. He's an ally, but not a friend, and there's something unsettling at the idea of seeing him outside of the hospital. It's like a piece of the horror following him around. It's also a familiar face offering assistance who isn't Jack Crawford. Will looks at Matthew, noting how odd it feels to be free of the power imbalance. He could walk away now, could cut ties entirely.

Instead he turns after only a few seconds and steps over to the passenger's-side door. Will opens it and he doesn't hesitate before getting in. The car smells of a home that isn't his. It's a little musty with the lingering smell of something vaguely alcoholic and something that's probably a mildly-clogged air filter, but it's so fucking _normal_ that it takes real effort to get himself together. He climbs into the passenger's seat and closes the door behind him, glancing down at the door so he can roll the window back up and settle into the vague heat that the car is already producing.

"Yeah," Will finally says, barely a breath, and he fastens his seat belt before reaching up to rub hard at his face. He's caught in the knowledge of how weird his life has become, and in the odd isolation of the realization that Matthew Brown is the only person alive who is actually in Will's corner. He can't afford to make more enemies. Yet there's nothing fake in the way Will swallows and nods, drawing in a deeper, steadying breath before letting it out.

"Thank you. It's... I live a long way away. It's a good hour, maybe more in this weather. You don't have to take me the whole way. Just... to town, or something. I can catch a cab or a bus. Just... drive. _Away_."

* * *

Matthew can imagine a little bit of all the different emotions that Will is likely going through. Relief. Uncertainty. Anger. He knows what it's like to be locked away and looked down on, to be judged too much of one thing and not enough of another. People like them - people who think differently and feel differently - society preferred their so called problems to be medicated and people to be put away. Out of sight, out of mind. Society would have them locked up and the key thrown away, but Will and Matthew had other designs.

Will gets into the car without any fuss and Matthew's glad that there's no hesitancy shown in this. Will rolls the window up, fastens the seat belt... and then rubs at his face. Matthew's seen this action enough times to know that this is a classic Will Graham move. Matthew wonders if Will really has no one else that could have picked him up. Maybe the Asian FBI lady if she was still alive. Or what about the beautiful Doctor Bloom? But she'd believed Will had 'done it' so to speak and that's gotta sting for Will. There's no way Hannibal would have the balls to dare come and meet Will. So, it had come down to Jack Crawford or him and _he'd_ won and now he has a twitchy not-a-real-FBI agent in his passenger seat.

As Will rambles about not needing to get a ride all the way home, Matthew rolls his eyes. What? Why would he drop Will off somewhere else when he's perfectly able to drive Will to Wolf Trap. He drives carefully, his own music playing softly in the background. Normally he'd go a little faster, but he's sure as shit not going to get into some fender bender the first time he's giving Will a ride. "Why wouldn't I get you home?" Matthew asks, giving Will an incredulous look. "You and me, right?" His right shoulder lifts up in a casual shrug. He's off today; it makes sense to help Will out because who else would? "And anyway, we're making a stop first." He figures Will is going to need some essentials.

* * *

Will is at a loss. This isn't what he'd been expecting. He intends to give Hannibal Lecter a proper reckoning, and the plan to use Matthew's apparent curiosity or loyalty towards that end hasn't changed. Will hadn't expected... this. He'd anticipated a symbiotic relationship. Matthew helps him towards his own end, and he in return helps Matthew. Will is still hazy on _why_ Matthew seems so interested in fucking Hannibal over, but not everything is so black and white. It could just be the sex. It could be the power - the knowledge that he has something the Chesapeake Ripper wants. But Will hadn't expected a mutual arrangement to translate into Matthew Brown waiting outside of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane on one of his rare off-hours. This serves no real end, and as Will shoots Matthew a surreptitious, suspicious glance, he sees only a lazy confidence and ambivalence.

 _You and me, right?_ It lingers between them, shocking Will more than the concept that Matthew intends to drive him home. Secluded in the walls of the hospital, 'you and me' had been a nice mantra, a reminder. Now the dynamic has changed. Matthew is a man instead of an authority figure. He's a liability, a reminder, but Will doesn't sense any deception in his posture. Still, he hadn't sensed any deception in Hannibal either, and the thought draws a bitter grimace to his lips as Matthew pulls out of the parking lot and onto the open roads. Will can't explain this change; he hadn't expected _this._ He doesn't like not being able to predict what this is, but he also can't deny that without Matthew, he doesn't have anyone else. The thought is depressing and aching and so Will shoves it aside. Instead he focuses on the way Baltimore passes in a haze of white outside his window as the music plays low. It's not classic rock, it's not Hannibal's pretentious classical records. It's heavy metal, but turned down so low that the force doesn't bother Will. It's oddly thoughtful, which is even more confusing.

As it turns out, the ominous statement (' _We're making a stop first'_ ) is not nearly as ominous as Will had expected. They stop outside of a Harris Teeter and Will frowns out at the supermarket, because this is something he hadn't even thought of. He thinks back to his house, to the way forensics had likely picked over everything he owned. Any food he'd had in the cupboards has likely long-spoiled. Maybe canned food had been left and he could have made due with that, but food hadn't been a consideration to him. That _Matthew Brown_ had been considerate enough to think of something that not even Will had considered is enough to make him go quiet. Will just looks out at the parking lot, hesitating at the number of cars he sees, at the people bustling around. It feels surreal. Freedom is surreal.

It's also mildly terrifying. Will swallows. He doesn't want to be around crowds right now, but this detour does make sense. Finally, after a likely-rude amount of time has passed, Will looks back over his shoulder at Matthew with a small frown. "This wasn't necessary. It's... it's thoughtful, but you didn't need to do this."

* * *

Maybe it should feel weirder to have Will Graham in his car, but it really doesn't. Friends gotta start somewhere. He’s already bitten the shit out of Will and they've jerked each other off, so now there's this - the next step - helping out. Matthew's doesn't have a lot of friends anyway. He has acquaintances, sure. Some of the older orderlies invite him out to the bar every once in awhile. He goes to the lameass country bar they like and they complain about their job and whatever inmate has pissed them off that day. Matthew mostly watches them and thinks about how their heads would look smashed into the bars and how satisfying it would be.

It's not a big deal to Matthew to pick up groceries on their way out of Baltimore. It's a practical matter. Will's been locked up and food goes bad. Hopefully one of his colleagues or something cleaned out the kitchen or they could be treated to some very funky smells and sights. Somehow he doesn't think Will probably ever had that much food to begin with. Will doesn't strike him as someone who excelled at looking after himself. It occurs to Matthew that this might look like he's sucking up, but he doesn't really care.

"Food's necessary," Matthew answers as he puts the car into park. "And I know I don't _need_ to, but I am. So come on already." That said, he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out. Matthew stretches, glaring at the other vehicles parked in the lot. Ugh, _other_ people. Will looks a little twitchy, but that's nothing new. Matthew's wearing a nice pair of dark jeans and one of his better Metallica band tees covered by a baggy black hoodie. It's comfort clothing, not at all dressy, but he's not a damn slob either.

He leads the way inside the supermarket with Will trailing behind him. Matthew is on a mission. He grabs a cart from the entryway and makes a beeline for the produce section. He picks up a small bundle of bananas, bags a few apples that aren't marked up, and once they're in the cart, he's off again. Matthew doesn't like shopping or a lot of people, so he'd much rather be in and out than peruse. He stops to consult Will when they're in the cereal aisle.

"Grab your favorite," he says and gestures to the various boxes. He's standing in front of his favorite - Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Hopefully Will doesn't pick some boring bran type.

* * *

And just like that, Will finds himself shopping for fucking _groceries_ only a few minutes after being discharged from a psychiatric hospital. It feels as surreal as being free. At first he considers staying behind in Matthew's car, but it feels like bullshit to make Matthew buy food that isn't even for him. Will's credit cards probably still work. Maybe. He'll test them out. On top of that, staying in a guy's car when he's not even there is always awkward. Considering Matthew Brown is basically a stranger to him even now (despite the ring of bruises around Will's throat and their recent partnership) it feels even more awkward. So when Matthew gets out of the car without giving Will a chance to refuse, he's still for a moment. Then he silently undoes his seat-belt, puts his mind in neutral, and follows Matthew into the supermarket.

The crowds are the first thing that Will really registers. It's just a little after noon on the outskirts of Baltimore and while the stores aren't teaming, they're definitely not empty. All it takes is him stepping one foot into the store to give himself pause. Matthew is off like a shot immediately but Will just freezes. After so many weeks of dismal greys and low-lighting, of bland, tasteless food and no exercise, the atmosphere in the store feels almost impossible. He knows he probably looks as insane as he feels as he looks around slowly, taking in massive displays of produce and the distant smell of baked bread and pastries. It feels remarkably like another world. Bright colors, neon signs, a crackling voice over the PA-system announcing various specials in a tone that is far too upbeat to exist in retail. Will just stares and for an alarming moment he almost feels like he's going to tear up.

There's dirty water on the floor and salt stains on the tile from the melted snow. It's cold and there's already a woman over his shoulder sighing heavily as he's apparently blocking the newspaper stand. It's fucking real and _free_ and Will's jaw trembles a little before he clenches it tight. Ducking his head and all but burying himself in his jacket, he glances ahead enough to spot the black hoodie disappearing around the corner and Will rushes to intercept.

By the time he catches up to Matthew (or at least relents to walking a good ten feet behind him) the cart already has a number of items inside of it that Will doesn't look at. He feels detached, distant, and like he's a few seconds away from a meltdown. He doesn't give himself the permission. In a few hours he'll be home with his dogs. That's all he cares about now. So when Matthew stops in front of the cereal display, Will just glances over at the cartoon boxes. He's quiet for a moment and then he lets out a small snort of would-be laughter as he glances at a box of Cocoa Puffs. Oh, that'd be a joke, wouldn't it?

"I'm not really a breakfast guy," he admits after a moment, but he grabs a small box of Captain Crunch anyway, because it's been a few years and he's being prompted. It's only after the box is in the cart that he realizes he'd acted on autopilot. Apparently it'll take him some time to stop taking everything Matthew says as a command. Will grimaces. "You do this for all your released ex-cons or am I just special?"

* * *

So focused is Matthew on quickly getting in and out, he doesn't see Will struggling with the sudden immersion back into the real world. While not bursting with people, there's enough shoppers that he has to be mindful of steering the cart and not hitting some yuppy couple or a mom with her clan of children running around the store. He focuses on picking up the essentials, running through his mental list in his head.

What were the essentials? Some fruit. Cereal. Bread. Milk. Eggs. Orange juice. Coffee. Maybe some canned soup. Kraft dinner. Crackers or chips. These are Matthew's ideas of essentials, anyway. He has no idea what Will used to eat in his day to day life, but Matthew's list isn't too crazy. He figures it's enough to get Will settled.

 

Will makes his comment about not being a 'breakfast guy' and Matthew rolls his eyes. "But they say it's the most important meal of the day." It's a rhetorical statement, one that he mutters and isn't bothered by receiving no response to. Matthew's about to repeat his request when Will jerks into motion and grabs a box of Captain Crunch and it gets added to the cart. Not a bad choice. It's then Matthew realizes that, until he introduced himself to Will, all Matthew has ever said to the guy were essentially orders. _Step away from the door. Put your hands through the bars. Turn around, Mr. Graham. Stop. Let's go._ Will's had relatively no free will and has spent more time _obeying_ rules and commands (not that Will had given a shit who Matthew was before).

His eyes narrow as he takes in the rather twitchy and decidedly _off_ form of Will. Will looks like he might be close to having a nervous breakdown... but then he chooses to be sarcastic and Matthew gives him an unimpressed look."Don't be a shit, I know it's a lot to adjust to," Matthew remarks. "It always felt weird when I got out too." He doesn't elaborate. His stints in psychiatric wards aren't something he's opened up about to anyone. The best thing to do for Will is to be quick and get him home and away from people.

And with that said, he's pushing the cart onward. Matthew stops further down the aisle in front of granola bars. If Will isn't a breakfast guy, granola bars are probably a good idea. He's about to grab a box or two when he notices that Will isn't nearby. Will actually hasn't moved. Matthew leaves his cart and walks back to his adopted ex-con and snaps his finger in front of Will's face. It's something his dad did when he was zoning out.

"Hey, Earth to Will," Matthew murmurs. His tone actually isn't unkind. There's no reason to be cruel right now.

"Mom, why's he--"

Matthew turns sharply and finds some hellspawn child and her mother staring at them. Will apparently looks off enough that he's standing out. Great. "It's rude to stare," Matthew snaps. That's all it takes for the mother to frown and usher her daughter away from them. Matthew turns back to Will and makes a decision. He reaches out and grabs Will's hip roughly, his thumb coming to push into the last bruise he'd left Will. Pain has helped him concentrate in the past, so it might help Will now. That's what Matthew is hoping for at any rate.

"Go back to the car, turn it on, listen to my music," Matthew instructs, his other hand fishing out the keys from his hoodie and slipping them into Will's jacket pocket. "Push on this bruise if you need to. Keep your head down. Can you do that for me, Mr. Graham?"

* * *

Will honestly doesn't realize that he's started to zone out again. It's the word - ex-con - that really surprises him. He's not a man to worry and fret over shit he can't change, but he's never been stable. Whatever kind of crazy he is doesn't handle change well. He lives in the middle of nowhere, isolated, for a reason. In Wolf Trap, Will's closest neighbor is a good ten minute walk away, and he has a driveway long enough that he can hear cars approaching for a good twenty seconds before they arrive. Everything about his house has been tailor-made to keep him grounded. There are very few surprises, and when something does slip by, he's got seven dogs to notify him first. It's simple but - to him - it's stable. It's _alone_. It's not around dozens of people with their own emotions and problems. It's not loud like the store is. As the man again comes onto the PA system to announce sales, Will twitches and freezes. His hands come to rub at his face and he doesn't realize he's started to dissociate until the sound of fingers snapping catches his attention.

Jerking a little - but not too obviously - Will pulls his hands away from his face and blinks rapidly as he draws in a long breath. He's nodding before he's even heard the words, but he at least registers that Matthew's tone is more gentle than it likely has to be. He must look like shit if even Matthew Brown doesn't want to spook him. A different kind of anxiety twists through him then, because visible weakness is not something to show a man like Matthew. He sees himself as a hawk. The moment Will reveals any kind of soft underbelly is the moment a hooked beak tears it open. So he's already struggling to get his shit back together when Matthew turns and snaps something back at a kid that Will hadn't seen.

Will isn't expecting the way Matthew grabs his hip, and he makes a small, startled sound, wincing. The bruise throbs, pain flares, but Will's focus slams back into him with an intensity he hadn't been expecting. He's not _okay_ , but he's at least listening. When Matthew gives him very precise instructions, Will hears them. He darts a quick look to Matthew's eyes before focusing on his cheek instead and the protests that Will has dies immediately. He swallows and nods.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can... yeah." Not the most concise answer but he hopes the gratitude in his voice says enough.

The realization that Matthew is planning to pay for the groceries should bother Will, and maybe it will. It doesn't now. Instead he merely hunches his shoulders and turns, sliding one hand into his pocket and clutching the keys tight enough to bite as he quickly takes off. Will weaves his way through the people remaining, instinctively finding the path of least resistance. He's single-minded in his focus and when the sliding doors open for him and eject him back out into the cold, he drags in a deep, rougher breath and jerks away from the door - away from people - and takes a moment. It takes him some time to remember where Matthew's car is but once he's crossed the slush-filled parking lot to get there, Will fumbles with the keys in the door, unlocks the car, and climbs back in. His hand is on his hip when he closes the door behind him and he presses on the bruise hard. Pain squirms unpleasantly under his skin but he clings to it as he turns the car on and the music begins to play again. The deep, grinding beats are vibrations Will can feel in his bones and despite the violence of the voices, it's actually helpful. He doubles over to rub at his face, to breathe, and finds himself feeling oddly grateful. The fact Matthew had ordered him _does_ register, but Will doesn't care. Not now that he's away from people.

* * *

Yeah, it's a bit of a risk to snap in front of Will's face. Will could get pissed and lash out and make an even bigger scene - but thankfully, he doesn't. Ordering Will back into the car could also irritate the already unstable man, but Matthew thinks Will needs to _not_ be around the public right now. Okay, so maybe groceries hadn't been the best idea, but shit, how was Matthew supposed to know Will was gonna have a problem? Matthew supposes he could have had Will stay in the car to begin with, but he thinks Will likely would have had a hissy fit at the insinuation that he couldn't handle it.

But now? Now after Will's been having a rough go of it, Matthew's pretty damn sure Will is going to take the out. Matthew can see that the sudden pain is helping. He holds onto Will tightly, thumb pushing on the bruise through his jeans. Will blinks and seems to be more alert and _back,_ but back for how long? Matthew doesn't fucking know. Will stammers and Matthew watches Will's hand go into his pocket, likely feeling for the keys Matthew had put there. More grounding shit. Will says nothing when he pulls away and hurries off. Matthew takes a deep breath. He's not at all worried about Will driving off with his car or anything silly like that. He just hopes Will can at least _make it_ to the car.

So, with Will out of the picture, Matthew returns back to the task at hand. Without having to worry about keeping an eye on his companion, Matthew's able to dart around the store, weaving in and out of the other people threatening to get in his way. He doesn't know what kind of milk, eggs or bread Will prefers, but whatever. He makes do and goes with 2%, extra large eggs and white bread. He picks out a few cans of chicken noodle soup and plain crackers. Kraft dinner gets added (because the no name brand tasted like shit). He grabs some instant coffee. Does Will like pulp in his orange juice? Matthew doesn't so he buys the pulp-free stuff. Item by item, the cart fills up with 'the essentials' and in less than fifteen minutes he's in the checkout line. One of Matthew's hands is stuffed in his hoodie's pocket, the other is grasping tightly onto the cart's handle. Some idiot is on the phone in front of him and going slower because of it. The teller looks unimpressed. Matthew is pissed, but eventually the douchebag pays and is on his way. Good riddance.

Matthew is curt, but polite to the cashier. It's not _her_ fault grocery shopping and people suck. Matthew pays and loads the cart with the bags and is on his way out. Thank God. He tromps through the slush and his car is of course still there. Will isn't having a fit from what he can make out either. Matthew knocks on Will's window and Will unlocks the doors. He unloads the bags into the backseat with nothing said. Because he isn't a complete dick, Matthew actually pushes the shopping cart back into the stall.

"You doin' better now?" he asks after climbing back into the car and glancing over to Will.

* * *

It takes Will time, but bit by bit, second by second, he begins to feel a little less like he's going to fall apart. Unfortunately with that sensation comes the realization that he'd almost had an episode in the middle of a grocery store in front of Matthew Brown. Shame curls around his edges like paper curling against fire and Will sets his face in his hands and just breathes. If he'd had his glasses, maybe... but then, maybe this had been expected. Maybe this was always going to happen. After so long in a hospital with minimal human contact, constantly on edge, with crushing grief and anger, it makes sense that a return to monotony would be enough to not only spark suspicion but also rage. Will thinks bitterly on what Hannibal would say about it, but the very hint of Hannibal's voice in his mind is enough to make him recoil from it.

He thinks of his dogs, as in his mind fishing has started to pull up swimming corpses around him. It's a worry for another day; possible permanent damage from the encephalitis. Will doesn't dwell on it. Instead he thinks of each of his dogs in turn, from Winston to Harley, and the intricacies of each. He thinks about Zoe's pronounced underbite that doesn't stop her from gently licking his hand. He thinks about Max's big, lumbering clumsiness that always finds a way to settle near him. Then he thinks of Winston, of calm, loyal eyes and soft whines, and Will imagines burying his fingers into Winston's fur. It helps. He breathes, he settles, and by the time Matthew comes back and knocks on the door, Will only jumps fractionally before he pulls himself back together and unlocks the car.

There's a woman screaming faintly in Matthew's music but the beat is steady and pulsing and Will finally begins to come back to the present. The shades of his dogs leave but he knows he'll be seeing them soon enough. When Matthew comes back to the car after dropping the cart off, Will glances at him sidelong and decides it's _still_ weird to see him, but that he even has anyone in his corner right now is enough to settle him down a little more.

"Yeah," Will says after a moment, sighing. "Yeah, I'm doing a little better." It burns to admit that there'd been a problem to begin with, but he knows Matthew knows. The only issue is whether Matthew sensing weakness means he'll be going for the throat or not. "Just... a lot to handle at once. Thanks." For dragging him back. Will doesn't clarify.

* * *

Matthew Brown, for the most part, is pretty stable. He's kept down a job for over three years now and while he's late at times, he never misses an actual shift. He doesn't have freak-outs anymore -- at least not in public and that has to count for something. He pays his bills on time and he hasn't been caught for any of the crimes he's committed (way to go law enforcement). Sure he can get a little manic at times, his sleep schedule is horrible and he has a bad temper. All in all, Matthew thinks he's doing just fine. He can at least manage to go grocery shopping.

Now, he supposes it's rather unfair to compare Will to himself. Will's been framed for multiple murders, locked up and on god knows how much medication. Before that he'd had a thing with his brain being inflamed too. The cherry on top was the man responsible for both getting him into the cell and out -- betrayed by his very own friend and therapist, Hannibal Lecter. Will Graham has been through a lot and then some. Matthew hadn't been lying in the store when he'd mentioned things feeling weird once discharged from the hospital. Re-integration was a pain in the ass and Will undoubtedly had more to work through.

Will looks less freaked out so Matthew takes that as a good sign. Once the car was moving a mental breakdown would actually be dangerous. Matthew just nods, putting on his seatbelt as Will replies. The gratitude sent his way has Matthew's lips twitching. It didn't deserve a 'thanks' in his mind, but he's never been good with hearing gratitude.

"No problem," he says as he takes the car out of park and begins driving. "Just take it easy, yeah."

Not wanting any more awkward conversation, Matthew turns up the volume. His fingers drum along to the beat as they leave the city behind and the scenery changes.

* * *

There's something almost reassuring about such a blatant hint to _shut up_. Will glances at Matthew when he reaches over to turn the music up. Louder, Will's pretty sure the screaming and heavy beats will eventually result in giving him a headache but he appreciates the transparency just the same. There's no flowery, vague conversation--- no hints, no subtlety. It's just Matthew dismissing the thanks and turning up the music, and Will reads the hint loud and clear. For a moment he simply looks over at Matthew in the driver's seat and then he finally turns his attention to the window instead. Will looks out at the scenery as it changes from high buildings to open highway.

The dusting of snow on the sides of the road are actually scenic, though it makes Will realize just how long he'd been locked up for. Thoughts about the reason behind that swirl treacherously but he shoves them aside for later. Hannibal Lecter is not a topic he wishes to dwell on right now. Instead he focuses on bringing himself back down, on breathing, counting the breaths, and ignoring as much of the music as he can. It's not bad; better than classical, anyway, but it's still rougher and it has the possibility to be nerve-wracking if he lets himself think on it.

A few times during the drive Will considers talking but doesn't. He's spent so long in his own head that it's just more natural to keep his mouth shut. The only times that he speaks are to give directions. Even then, at one point he just points at an exit sign coming up and Matthew seems to correctly guess what he's meant to do. The drive passes in a blur, Will's attention spacing in and out. When the car veers off onto a smaller off-road at Will's insistence, however, he sits up a little straighter. Familiar trees line the road and bit by bit, the houses begin to space themselves out. Sardine-can-houses become one every few yards, and then even less frequent. Thick pines and firs show up more and more and by the time Will gestures Matthew down another sub-road, Will looks remarkably more like himself.

When his house finally shows up, Will lets out a soft, punched-out sound because it looks just the way he'd left it. Memories - good and bad - swirl in his mind but Will doesn't mention them. Instead he just gestures off down the road and says, "there, that one," and when Matthew complies and makes his way down the long, winding driveway, Will is already unbuckling his seatbelt by the time the car rolls to a stop. He's out in seconds, his feet crunching in the snow, and something thick tightens his throat as he looks at his house. It's not the same. There are no immediately-wiggling bodies, no chorus of barks, but Will's tension eases almost immediately. He keeps it together, but just barely.

* * *

For the most part, the drive is relaxing. Driving in the actual city can suck because a lot of people were fuckheads, but out here there are less idiots sharing the road. Matthew doesn't find himself muttering profanities at the other drivers all that too often. Will thankfully doesn't try to talk to him. Not that Matthew is against conversing per se, but he has a feeling that being trapped in a car would produce awkward topics like the shitty weather and maybe more stilted thank you’s sent his way. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Matthew would rather have the music turned up and not have to bother with forced small talk. He doesn't need any more gratitude for doing what had just _made sense_ to him either. Someone's having a near meltdown, you get them away from whatever is triggering them. Common sense and common decency. (Because he isn't a jerk all the time.

As the scenery changes, Will glances out the passenger side window. Every once in awhile Matthew side-eyes him. Matthew wonders what's going on in Will's head, if the guy is stressing about what happened in the store or if he's simply focusing on getting back home to somewhere safe and familiar. Matthew's not overly concerned about Will being unstable. Shit happens. He's had his fair share of freak-outs before, so Matthew isn't judging Will over it. It was an inconvenience, but it hadn't set him back more than a few minutes and Will hadn't stolen his car. It was okay in his books. Maybe it was like some bonding experience for them, too.

With Will's directions, eventually Matthew is pulling into a single house lot. It's pretty rustic looking with the the trees and smaller house; he thinks it suits a man like Will Graham. Before he even puts the car into park, Will is freeing himself from the seatbelt and all but bounding out of the vehicle. Matthew smirks. He parks the car and pockets his keys, getting out a moment later. He goes to the backseat and pulls out two of the heavier grocery bags before striding up to Will.

"Good to be home, yeah," Matthew comments and then continues his journey to Will's front door. They have groceries to put away. Once that's done, Will can stand around and ponder all he wants.

* * *

There's a level of resentment and humiliation in the idea that Will has Matthew Brown to thank for keeping him together on the way home, but Will isn't enough of an ass to make it known. Instead he just looks out at his house and immediately starts to make small notes on what to do. He can't remember the last time he'd been here, his port in the storm, before Hannibal had swept in and destroyed Will's safety. It doesn't stop his desire to get things _done_ though. The windows will need washing to let in the light, the place will need to be aired out, and Will's already looking up at the gutters to judge whether or not he needs to look at them to make sure the snow hasn't fucked with them again. He'd not been around to prime the place for winter this year.

Matthew's voice is what startles Will back to the moment. He jumps a little and then glances back at him, frowning curiously. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds to see the bags in Matthew's hand and register what he means. Immediately Will gives his head a small shake and awkwardly takes a few steps back. His hand slides into his pocket and he's comforted by the jingle of keys, but he still takes a few bags in his other hand before starting off for his front door. Right. Focus first, shatter later, once Will has his dogs back from Alana and the world is back to normal, or as normal as it can be.

The key is fussy with the lock but it's just a reminder of home. A wiggle, a quarter-turn and then _click._ Will smiles almost imperceptibly as he shoulders the door open. As an afterthought, he holds the door open for Matthew, though the thought of inviting _anyone_ into his home has never really sat well with him.

Will's good mood lasts for as long as it takes to step inside his house, and then the faint smell of chemicals assaults him. For a moment he frowns and then looks around. While there are no labels left with letters to denote evidence found, Will can see the differences. Whoever was here last made an effort to make his home as welcoming for him as possible. Will can see where things are _too_ clean, or where his bed had been moved, or where his fishing lures are conspicuously absent.

Frowning, looking at all the differences, Will hesitates for a moment and then just goes on. He turns and makes his way into the kitchen, beckoning Matthew to follow him. "Just... in here."

* * *

Matthew understands that there's a lot of shit going on with Will Graham. After months locked away, freedom is a lot to take in and adjust to. Just being in your own clothes has gotta be rewarding and weird at the same time. Matthew may not have ever been in a prison issued jumpsuit, but hospital gowns and pants with a tie on the side made him feel like a nameless zombie in a sea of other patients dragging their feet. Being on a locked ward, controlled by rules and schedules, medicated, forced therapy all with limited stimulation hadn't been any sort of vacation. Sure, it may have nice to not have to worry about cooking and shit, but you start to lose parts of yourself. At least that's what he's always thought. Maybe they'll share stories one day, maybe they won't.

He's relieved Will isn't about to have another breakdown and has the common sense to collect the other few bags from the backseat. Matthew can probably handle a Will freak out, but he'd rather have the groceries put away first. Or at least the shit that needs to go in the fridge. He watches Will fidget with the lock, but thankfully they won't need to be breaking in because Will manages to get the door open... and then he holds the door open for him.

"Don't mind if I do," Matthew comments as he enters the little house first.

It's obvious that shit's been cleaned up by someone because Matthew can smell the telltale scent of cleaning supplies. On one hand it's perhaps thoughtful, but on the other, it's kind of irritating. Matthew imagines Will would rather have his stuff _not_ be touched and rearranged by anyone no matter their intent. A man's place is his sanctuary, his place to escape and hide from the bullshit of the world. Matthew turns around and watches Will look around, likely taking stock of what's been moved and tidied. Matthew says nothing and when Will gets over it and moves on, Matthew follows. He doesn't have to go far before they're entering the kitchen. Matthew spares no time before he's placed the plastic bags on the table and starts pulling out the items, setting them on the counter for Will to put them wherever he wants.

"Home sweet home," he remarks. "But it'll take a while to feel like that."

* * *

Will doesn't say anything else as he walks into the kitchen, looking around at the room. It's not like he'd used it often before except for making dog food, but the knowledge that there have been countless people in his house leaves it feeling vaguely invaded. He tries not to dwell on it as he looks around, rubbing a hand over the counter and frowning at how smooth it feels. There's no slight stick of cheap cleaning supplies, and the scent of bleach and crime clean up issued cleaning supplies is faint in the air. To Will's credit, he doesn't detach. He just looks, gazing at his sink and feeling his stomach clench at the vague belief that he'd be able to see Abigail's ear in its depths, but he knows that's stupid. Aside from the sudden ache in his chest, Will tries to shove that away. He's _not_ having a fucking panic attack with company.

He startles at the sound of the bags on the table but it's exactly what he needs to get him going. Straightening and shaking his head quickly, Will nods vaguely and walks over.

"Yeah, no shit." He sighs, but he grabs the milk and eggs and steps over to the fridge. Upon opening it, Will _can_ hand one thing to the crime guys. They hadn't been needlessly cruel. His fridge is almost empty save for a few canned goods, but that Will doesn't have the scent of spoiling milk to welcome him home is a benefit. He starts putting the groceries away and only then does he actually get a good look at what Matthew had purchased. For a few seconds Will considers offering to pay him back, but he resists. Will knows men like Matthew Brown. Matthew would only take offense.

Will also doesn't thank him, though he does lift one of the boxes of cereal in a mild toast before putting it away. Somehow he thinks Matthew will appreciate recognition like that more. So that's how they work - Matthew unloading the groceries and Will making a point to put them away - for the next few minutes. It only stands to reason that Matthew should be the one to finish first, and while Will is busy rifling through cupboards with one hand as best as he can, he almost doesn't hear the sound of the engine driving up. It registers as non-threatening; he hardly gives it any thought.

The only time Will focuses on it is when there's suddenly a knock on the door. He stiffens for a moment, tensing almost hilariously before he shoots a wary look over his shoulder. His arms are full of boxes and for a moment, Will hesitates. "Would you get that? Just... I'll be there in a minute."

* * *

Together they work in silence. Matthew is more than okay with this as he has no need for small talk here either. He unloads the plastic bags item by item and places them haphazardly on the table and counter tops -- wherever there's free space, really. Will then takes them and deposits them in their correct spot. It's simple and Matthew finds himself wondering what's next for them -- all of them. Hannibal. Will. Him. Would Will seek out Hannibal or would Hannibal come crawling to Wolf Trap, desperate for a reunion with his darling? To be a fly on the wall when that confrontation played out...

Will's apparently what’s standing between Lecter killing him. It's an amusing thought. Should he be grateful? Should he give Will a thank-you note? All things considered, getting taken down by the Ripper's not a bad way to go. He's curious what Lecter would create out of his corpse. Maybe he'll ask him next time they meet. Death by serial killer. It would be better than heart disease or old age. Fuck that. What a depressing state. He has no plans on letting himself live that long, to become wrinkled and a burden on everyone around him. Matthew's not going to be senile and shitting in a diaper while reminiscing about the good ole days. When his time's up, it's up.

He finishes unloading the groceries before Will's gets them put away. Matthew leans against the door fame in the kitchen, somewhat lost in thought, his mind back on the kind of murder tableau Hannibal would construct. He watches Will and for whatever reason Will doesn't seem to startle at the sound of a vehicle pulling up. Matthew is curious, but it's not _his_ house so he isn't going to go to the door and see who it is. He tracks the sound of the vehicle parking, the driver's door opening and closing. Another car door opening, some sort of rummaging around and then the sounds of dogs piling out of said vehicle. Matthew is a bit surprised that Will hasn't clued in that he's going to soon be reunited with his furry friends, but the guy looks focused in on the grocery-putting-away-business. A moment later a knock comes and this has Will _somewhat_ paying attention and sending _him_ to answer it. Matthew gives a shrug and strolls to the front door.

A rather attractive woman is there and he can see what he assumes are Will's dogs gathering on the porch, obviously eager to see their old master again. Matthew knows it's Alana Bloom, but he'll play dumb because he's not supposed to know Alana Bloom.

"Hey," he greets casually, standing behind the screen door and making no effort to open it. His hands are stuffed in his hoodie as he appraises her.

She has a friendly but cautious smile on her face. She's hot, but he has the distinct impression that she's secretly uppity. She hadn't been expecting him; she likely hadn't been expecting anyone _but_ Will. Surprise, surprise pretty lady, Will has friends other than you.

"Hello, is Will here?" Her tone is polite, but not stilted. Matthew can tell that Dr. Bloom is the type of doctor that a lot of patients probably jerked off over.

"Obviously. It's his place," Matthew answers with a smirk, still making no effort to open the door for Alana or the dogs.

Her eyes narrow, but she merely leans over and pets one of the many dogs by her feet. She's not one to let herself be flustered. "And you are?"

Matthew doesn't hesitate in responding with, "His boyfriend." Bloom is friends with Lecter. It makes sense for him to assert his claim. She'll likely tell Hannibal. Matthew will get this ball rolling for all of them... It's after he gives his answer that Will is coming up to them and he can see Alana relaxing at the sight of the man she _wants_ to be talking with.

* * *

It's rude to ask Matthew to answer his door. The thought strikes him ironically after Matthew has already turned with a shrug to do just that. Will can almost hear Hannibal's voice admonishing him and the spark of bitter anger that wells within him is difficult to swallow back. Still, it isn't that kind to ask Matthew to handle something that isn't his problem, so Will hastens to finish putting the boxes away. It's likely not the best job; he'll need to straighten everything up after but he can hear murmured conversation from the other room. Will hears the soft, lilting voice of Alana and his pulse quickens, both because he has no idea what to say to her and because it means she's likely brought his dogs along. Will shoves the rest of the groceries that don't need to be refrigerated aside and he turns sharply on his heel, forcing himself to walk to the door instead of run.

He hears the last few lines as he walks up. There's a smirk in Matthew's voice and Will notes with a guilty satisfaction that he hasn't opened the screen door yet. Alana seems to be trying to keep her composure past her curiosity and Will almost feels bad for the bitterness welling up within. She hadn't believed him. She'd been as kind as she'd known how to be, but even Alana had believed he'd killed those people. She'd believed he'd killed _Abigail Hobbs_ and _that_ is what stings the most. The knowledge sends his guilt flying away and his feelings for Alana drift closer to the contempt he currently feels for Hannibal. Not even he knows how he _might_ have answered the door had it not been for the last thing Matthew said.

' _His boyfriend,_ ' Will hears as he steps up behind them both, and he freezes for only a second, darting a sharp look in Matthew's direction. It'd be damning under any other circumstances, but considering Alana immediately looks at Matthew in obvious shock, Will gets away with it. A numb buzzing slides through him, a sort of weightless thrill at having no fucking idea how to handle that sort of statement. Seeing the shocked confusion and the frown on Alana's lips somehow makes it worth it. Will swallows down his urge to grab Matthew and jerk him away, to ask him what the _fuck_ he thinks he's _doing_. It's pretty clear. For some reason, he's looking to rile Alana up, and it doesn't take Will long to figure out a possible reason. Matthew had been privy to all of his visits. Matthew knows who she is.

"Alana," Will says flatly as he steps up beside Matthew. For a second, he's at a loss for what to do, but then he just reaches out and sets a hand on the small of Matthew's back, hoping it doesn't look as awkward as it feels. He has a vague plan to just get the pleasantries out of the way and retreat. Despite his attempt to sound and _stay_ cold, there's a sudden excited yipping whine and Will's attention drops down to Winston who's already nosing desperately at the screen door. Will watches the excitement spread to the other dogs and something thick and heavy catches in his throat.

"It's okay," he tells Matthew, just barely holding onto the deception. "I know her."

For a moment, Alana looks almost taken aback, her brows pinching, but she recovers quickly. Will has no reason to tell anyone about her, though she can't help but look back at Will's apparent _boyfriend_ , still thrown by the information. "I expected you'd want them back as soon as possible," she tells Will, and despite the surprise, her voice is warm.

Will only spares her a glance, then steps back and slips his shoes back on. Then, carefully, he nudges the screen door open and makes a point to slip out onto the porch. He doesn't need a flurry of dogs to tackle him and break a lamp, but he's hardly able to take a few steps outside onto the porch before he's got seven dogs immediately swarming him. "Yeah," he tells Alana thickly. "Thanks for watching them." For all his bitterness, his dogs are okay. He can give her that. Beyond that, it's hard to care, and Will drops down onto his knees on the porch and reaches out, running his fingers through mixtures of soft, silken, scratchy, and wiry fur.He lets himself be assaulted by a flurry of desperate, excited licking, wiggling bodies, and wagging tails.

Alana looks down at Will for only a moment, watching the way he immediately welcomes all of his dogs, and then she looks back at Matthew, a curious frown on her lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't get a name. Will's... never mentioned you before."

* * *

' _His boyfriend.'_

It's a lie, of course. Will could lose his shit now and flip out on him, but Matthew is obviously hoping Will keeps it together and is smart enough to put two and two together. Matthew is more interested in Alana's amusing reaction of shock than looking over to Will, but Will thankfully seems to clue in and simply comes beside him. Will greets her (if Will's tone is any indication, there's no love lost between them). When Will places a hand on his back in acknowledgement, Matthew's smirk remains.

Will goes along with the lie, reassuring him that he knows her and of course he knows her, she's been the glorified dog babysitter. She probably loved broken things and couldn't help her big heart. She just _had_ to take them all in. If she couldn't save Will, she could at least save his dogs!

Despite her obvious surprise, she keeps calm and her voice is warm. She probably has Spidey senses for broken people and they were all a-tinglin'. Not that Matthew considers himself broken, but Will comes across as a kicked puppy who's now been hardened by his experiences. Angry puppy. Matthew watches their exchange with mild interest. He moves aside when Will gets his boots back on to go have some emotional reunion with the pack of dogs that he probably liked more than everyone else in his life. Pets didn't fuck you over. Matthew gets it.

And Matthew isn't an asshole. He likes pets just fine. He's more of a cat person, but dogs are cute too. At least Will doesn't cry when he gets out there and down on his knees to start lavishing the furry friends with attention.

"Matthew," he answers simply when Alana addresses him. He doesn't bother with his last name; she doesn't deserve one. "I'm a somewhat new development. Met while he was locked up. I was a fan, you could say."

His last comment has her floundering, but she recovers quickly enough. Alana gives a Curt nod. "I'm glad he has someone for this transition period."

From what Matthew can observe, she doesn't _look_ glad. Well, whatever. Shel’ll go report to Lecter. That's what she's good for. He decides to make an effort and introduce himself to the dogs. Might as well if he's going to be in Will's life for a while. Matthew slips on his own shoes and joins Will out on the porch, kneeling down amidst the large group.

"Hey doggos," Matthew murmurs, his hand outstretched a moment to let the more curious ones smell at it.

* * *

Will is distantly aware of Matthew and Alana talking in the same way he's aware that the clouds are gathering above for what will likely be a light snowfall in a little over an hour's time. He's aware of it, of them, but his _care_ over it is another matter entirely. Maybe later he'll give a shit, but initially he doesn't, not when there's a veritable pack of dogs swarming him immediately. Will kneels down on the porch, snow seeping through the knees of his pants, but he doesn't care. There are small (and massive in Max's case) wiggling bodies and excited yips and a flurry of tongues going right for his face and hands. He can handle almost anything so long as he has his dogs with him, or at least that's what it feels like.

His fingers slide through fur and Buster leaps and jumps at him so excitedly that he bumps his head against Will's chin on more than one occasion. All his dogs are excited, most of them whining. Zoe's whine is sharpest of all and so Will makes a point to lift the small white dog into his arms, holding her a little closer as he greets them all and lets them get used to his scent again. He'll shower as soon as he can; even Will knows he has to smell like the prison.

Even so, despite the reunion, he _does_ catch what Matthew tells Alana in response, and even Will goes quiet then. He's stunned at Matthew admitting it, but he supposes it does make sense. While he'll need to confirm with Matthew later, Alana _is_ relatively close to Hannibal, and if the way they'd been tag-teaming him with concern in the hospital is any indication, it'll get back to Hannibal eventually. Will just _hopes_ that's Matthew's intention here, otherwise they'll need to have a talk. He shoots Matthew a quick sidelong look when Matthew kneels down beside him. While Will _is_ a little distracted as Matthew reaches for his dogs, he's honestly surprised that he doesn't seem to need to worry. While Max flinches back (big as he is, he's nervous) Buster is immediately all over Matthew's hand, snuffling and wuffing. It's Winston that finally puts Will at ease when the dog merely leans over, smells Matthew's hand, and then tentatively licks his fingers. Maybe Matthew's a bit of a psychopath, but his dogs seem fine with him. Will trusts their judgement over his own.

He tries not to remember their excitement after Hannibal had watched them. Maybe there are a few exceptions.

"You'd better know what you're doing," Will murmurs almost under his breath as he hikes Zoe back up on his hip, addressing Matthew without looking at him. Then, louder, he adds, "Matthew's... helping. I'm sure you can understand why I wasn't thrilled with the idea of _Jack_ trying to drive me back." He casts a glance up at her that he means to be mild, but there must be something accusatory in it, because Alana's frown - while subtle - is present.

"We're sorry, Will. But the evidence was..."

"Believable? Yeah. The Chesapeake Ripper's good at that," Will says back flatly, and Alana does flinch, but almost imperceptibly. "I don't want you apologizing for everyone. I can count my allies on one hand, Alana, and they're dead. Matthew's the only one who’s actually tried to help me." Will's about to leave it at that - it's not a lie - but all it takes is a simple look up at Alana for him to go still. He'd intended a look to drive the point home, but instead he's suddenly caught by the very faint mark just barely above Alana's collar. It's small and relatively light, but Will doesn't need to see it for more than a second to just _know_. Something in his stomach sinks and anger sparks hot in his veins.

"Hannibal tried, Will. We both did. At your trial--"

"Oh, I'm _sure_ Hannibal tried," Will cuts in bitterly, eyeing the hickey on her throat. "You sure you're not operating on a bias?"

* * *

This almost reminds him of one of those overly sentimental clips where the pet owner is reunited with their dog at the airport after serving in the military. If Will only had one dog Matthew's certain he'd be lifting it up and cradling it an embrace while spinning around in joy. Instead, there's a flurry of a dog huddle happening and Matthew's a part of it. Kind of. Most of the dogs are friendly albeit a few of them are more shy and cautious. Matthew lets his hand be sniffed at and licked and he pets a few of them. The dogs seem pretty well behaved overall, they're not going crazy at least.

The soft warning sent his way from Will has Matthew ducking his head to hide his grin from Alana. Matthew's never been all that interested in causing drama before, at least not with _ordinary_ _people_ , but Hannibal Lecter is far from ordinary. Will is far from ordinary and _he's_ far from ordinary. This is all more fun, and not knowing what's going to take place next is a thrill.

Will and Alana begin bickering and that's when Matthew's expression returns to something more neutral as he glances back up and observes the spat. His eyes narrow as he looks between the two of them and he notices something change in Will. Matthew scans Bloom again and then notices it -- a small hickey on her neck and Matthew thinks he knows just _who_ left that there. Tit for tat. Things were only getting more fun now.

"I'm sure Will's grateful and all for you taking care of his dogs, but I think you should go, you're just upsetting him," Matthew fixes Alana with a look as he wraps an arm around Will's shoulder.

"Will can--"

Matthew interrupts her, "Nice hickey, by the way." His fingers curl under Will's collar and he pulls low enough to show off the marks _he_ left on Will's collarbone. Alana's jaw clenches and her cheeks color. Matthew has the feeling that it's _her_ hickey being pointed out that bothers her.

* * *

They've tag-teamed her. It's an unintentional one-two punch. Will's bitterness is operating on its own bias as he looks at the hickey on Alana's throat but Alana's bitterness goes blank. For a moment her brow is pinched and she looks confused. Will wants nothing more than to lash out then, because he knows what this is. This is quid pro quo. This is Hannibal's response to having his _toy_ taken away from him. The only issue is that he's pointedly sought to claim someone solely on the basis that _Will_ had wanted her first. It's petty, but what's pettier is that Will is actually _angry_ at her for not seeing it. His jaw tightens in anger as she stutters, clearly trying to catch up with what Will had said, but all it takes is Matthew cutting in for her to lose more of her composure.

The arm around Will's shoulders is a farce. Matthew doesn't give a shit about Will's comfort, over whether or not he's upset, but the display of support is important. Will glances away, drawing Zoe up higher to lick at his face as Winston nudges his head against Will's chest and then immediately works to curl up as close as he can. He's not one to let someone else speak for him, but in this rare case, Matthew is doing well. Alana looks thrown and apologetic and a part of him _does_ feel bad. The issue is that that part is so small compared to his bitterness that it hardly deserves to be counted.

He's not expecting the way Matthew pulls his collar down. At first Will doesn't understand, but given the way Alana's eyes widen and her jaw clenches tight, it doesn't take him long to realize. She's probably more embarrassed over her own visible mark than she is over seeing Will's, but he finds he still takes a guilty pleasure in the fact that Matthew had managed to fluster her.

"Yeah, what I was saying. Bias."

"That has nothing to do with why I'm trying to explain, Will," Alana begins, but she trails off when Will pointedly looks away from her. There's real distress in her eyes then, but Alana is not a woman to be overstay a welcome. Much as she wants to argue and explain, Will clearly isn't in the right frame of mind to listen. She sighs and reaches up to lift her collar, but her attention remains on Will's clavicle. "If you want to talk, you know where to find me."

"Thanks for watching the dogs, Alana," Will says flatly, and while his cheeks do flush a little at her attention focused so pointedly on the marks Matthew had left, he doesn't pull away or stop Matthew. He's quiet as he watches her take a leash to a dog he _doesn't_ know, and despite himself, he can't help but ask, "who's that?"

"She's mine. Her name is Applesauce," Alana answers quietly, then turns away after a final lingering look.

Her dog looks up at her, heeling properly, and Will thinks she's at least a decent owner. Then his attention is back on his own dogs and on the weight of Matthew's arm around him. Will is quiet until Alana's gotten into her car. Then he darts a quick look at Matthew.

"I can't tell if that was a quick way to make her tell Lecter or if you were just showing off."

* * *

He's acting like a dick, but he's not going to let Alana Bloom stay and rile Will up more. Poor bastard’s been through enough. With freedom's shock to the system and the overwhelming sudden immersion back into life via a shopping excursion, Will doesn't need to be reminded that this so-called friend thought he was a killer. Of course, Matthew is hoping Will _is_ a killer, but during his incarceration Alana's belief would have been seen as a betrayal and now she's probably with Lecter (and clueless to the game that they're all playing). It _is_ a goddamn soap opera.

Will still is polite enough, thanking her and Alana has enough grace to back away from the two of them with a show of dignity. Apparently she has a new dog and of course this catches Will's attention. Guy's like a child with a huge bed full of dog stuffies and a new one on the corner caught his eye. Will's ideal death would probably be death by dogs suffocating him through cuddling and piling on top of him. Matthew's? Matthew would have Hannibal Lecter _and_ Will Graham kill him, eat the good parts, and then make some wicked death scene.

When she's back in her car and pulling away, Will's glancing over at him and giving his comment. Matthew removes his arm. "Both," Matthew smirks. His actions were to get her to tell Lecter and because he liked showing off. Matthew has a keen sense about people's lingering attraction and there's definitely _also_ some fizzling sparks between Alana and Will. He'll ask about it later; he's always been the curious type.

"Come on, enjoy your fucking freedom, man," Matthew says as he stands and carefully steps over the dogs and off the porch. He turns around and claps and whistles to excite them.

"Let's go furry friends!" Matthew then takes off in a jog. _He_ personally needs some air and exercise from all this tense emotional bullshit Will is giving off.

* * *

Both. Of course it had been both. Will watches as Matthew stands and he's distantly aware of Alana's car lingering for just a few seconds too long. Then she pulls out of his driveway and Will watches as his dogs whine curiously and look back at the car, clearly confused. All it takes is a few clicks of his tongue for them to refocus on him. Despite his stress over not knowing what the fuck he's doing, and not knowing what comes next, his dogs are still looking at him. Will may have sent this man to kill Hannibal Lecter, but Winston still buries his face in close and nuzzles against him, seeking attention he'd been denied the last few weeks. Will's expression softens and something twists sharply in his chest. He just lets his dogs come to him and basks in their attention.

When this registers later on in the evening, he isn't going to be okay. For now, he doesn't care about Alana or Hannibal or even his apparent _boyfriend_. He's got his dogs back, he's home, and he's _free_ (even though he doesn't like who he has to thank).

The sudden clap of Matthew's hands and the whistle is enough to make Will jolt, but his dogs immediately turn to look at Matthew. Max hesitates and Ellie shuffles and wiggles in Will's arms. Buster barks sharply and whines his excitement, then he's off like a shot. The terrier blood in him sends him racing after Matthew. As Buster is their unofficial leader in Will's absence, it doesn't take long for the other dogs to fall in line. Ellie looks at Will first, but he sends her off with a soft, "go on," and while Max stays back for a few seconds, Harley and Jack dart after Matthew. Only Winston stays for a moment and Will keeps his fingers curled in Winston's fur as the other dogs race madly around Matthew. To Will's relief, they're well-behaved. Buster jumps but doesn't bite, and while Harley knocks in against Matthew's side a few times, it's with a furiously wagging tail and lolling tongue.

Matthew Brown is a murderer. Will knows a lot of those these days. And yet his dogs are thrilled to be chasing him around. It's only when Will nods to Matthew and moves his hand back that Winston cautiously trots out to join the chase, though he looks back at Will every few seconds.

He doesn't much feel like running. There are too many uncertainties now, no clear-cut answers. Bitterness and fear are biting. And yet Matthew Brown is running around his yard in Wolf Trap with a pack of seven dogs on his heel. Will takes a deep breath and does what he can to shove thoughts of Alana and Hannibal and the new scene from his mind. Then he steps down his stairs and sets up a light jog, his arm carefully held at his side as he jogs and then just races after Matthew and the dogs. They look happy, and when the dogs realize Will is there too, there's a veritable cacophony of excited barking and wiggling bodies.


	4. Old friends and new friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had no idea, but Matthew did. I didn't even know for sure until you saw this." He gestures idly to his throat, to the mark. "I thought he was fucking with me. I really did. What was the plan? Lock me away? Keep your canary in a cage to sing pretty for you? Only it stopped singing for you and started singing for someone else. Then... what? You missed me?"
> 
> Will frowns, and in the back of his mind, the old child's rhyme sounds. _Miss me, miss me, now you've got to..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look everyone, it's Hannibal: (｡•́︿•̀｡)  
> Anyway, here's another update! We're not dead! Horrah.  
> Matthew/Hannibal written by merrythought ([tumblr](http://merrythought.tumblr.com)) | Will written by Dapperscript ([tumblr](http://reallymisscoffee.tumblr.com))  
> 

"So, it appears that you and Will Graham are rather friendly," Chilton says a few days later.

Matthew doesn't bother sitting in any of the chairs in front of Chilton's desk. He remains standing, his arms folded behind him like a good little worker bee. He knows this won't be a long talk.

"Oh?" Matthew is playing dumb and loving it.

"Yes," Chilton replies, looking annoyed and sitting up straighter to try and look more important. Or something like that. The show of displeasure is nice. Matthew's seen it a lot, but he usually doesn't get to _be_ the reason for it.

"There's footage of you picking him up after his discharge."

"I gave him a ride to his place," Matthew confirms with a shrug.

"And?"

Matthew blinks slowly. "And what?"

"What's your relationship with Will Graham?" Chilton asks in a rush of impatience.

"Taxi driver, at the very least," Matthew responds. He can't resist, but he makes sure to keep his expression confused. "He paid me fifty bucks to drop him off."

Chilton's eyes narrow. Matthew stares back.

"Get back to work."

"Yes, sir."

Matthew goes back to work. He knows Will plans on seeing Lecter soon. He wonders how that will go. They have plans to meet up after for a drink at Matthew's place. Should be a fun 'boys’ night in.'

*** * ***

Hannibal hears some unpleasant news from Alana Bloom the next time she's over for dinner. Will apparently has gained a boyfriend while incarcerated. When he's told this, Hannibal thinks he should get an award for his composure not breaking. He remains neutral, giving Alana his attention as she recounts the story of her dropping Will's canine club off, Matthew answering the door, the rather rude attitude and then the blatant show of hickies.

Hannibal drinks his wine slowly and nods to show that he is listening.

He's barely listening. He's picturing the many ways he could prolong Matthew Brown's death. He'd of course make Will watch. Will should be forced to watch. If Will plays, if he moves the game pieces, he will pay. Hannibal dealt with Agent Katz and he can deal with Will's little admirer. How many pawns is Will going to lose? Not even Hannibal knows. This may be a war of attrition.

"Don't you think it's a little worrisome?" Alana asks, clearly concerned. She's not touching her food either and Hannibal is rather displeased that Will is having a sway over _their_ meal. He may be desperate for scraps of information about Will, but he doesn't particularly like Will having agency.

"Will is floundering," Hannibal replies calmly. "It's natural that he may gravitate to someone that offers him attention and support, especially if that individual is new and unconnected to his former life."

Alana looks down at her mostly-full plate. "I'm being rude here, aren't I?" she says and picks up her fork and knife. She's clever enough to know that _not_ eating would perturb him. Good girl.

"Please feel free to tell me whatever's on your mind, Alana," Hannibal replies graciously and offers her a small smile. "I'm here to listen. Even if I may be unable to help or offer a new insight, I can at least be in your corner and give you support."

She smiles in return. "Thanks, Hannibal." She's beautiful, but oh so blind. She likes seeing the best in people and he likes showing her his well-tailored person suit. To her, they're two colleagues with a history of offering mutual support to one another in a trying time. To him, she's an outlet and a means to an end.

Will had kissed her. Will had wanted her. Now Will has Matthew, so Alana is his. Pawns that are between them.

When they make love that night, a hand is around her throat and Hannibal squeezes. She, in turn, clenches around him. He sees the trust in her eyes. She trusts him to not hurt her. Hannibal trusts her to continue to be blind.

* * *

Will is released on a Friday, and on Saturday he finally looks at his phone. There are a multitude of text messages from Jack that Will skims through without thought. He doesn't care. As he's scrolling through his phone, he suddenly sees a message from Beverly and Will feels his throat tighten so quickly that he almost chokes. He stares at it silently, dated a few months ago, and after a long moment, he opens it. It's nothing extravagant, a simple line of text he hadn't deleted that says: ' _you doing alright? Coffee? I'm buying.'_

He stares at it for what feels like a minute but turns out to be ten, and when he closes the message he doesn't delete it. There's a tightness in his chest that could be grief and could be anger. He doesn't know.

Instead he moves to Jack's final message and numbly looks at the address he'd been texted. Will lets his dogs out, feeds them, gives them attention, and then grabs his keys. It takes him an hour to properly service his car because it's been left on its own in his driveway for over a month. The tires aren't pleased and he needs to change the oil and warm up the engine. Still, he's on the road in no time flat, the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch lingering on the back of his tongue; he'd had it for breakfast.

There's a disgruntled-looking officer waiting by the scene, standing guard over the roadblock. Will gives his name and fishes about for his badge, but he remembers it had been confiscated from him before he'd been admitted to the BSHCI.

In the end, dejectedly, Will is forced to call Jack for clearance, and the officer listens to him on the speakerphone before going to get Will his file. Will is quiet as he immerses himself in the scene he finds, and though he hates it, he keeps Jack on speakerphone the whole time. In the end, he tells Jack what he can, and Will feels the cold slide of Hannibal's influence trickling down his spine in asymmetrical patterns. Fractals. He shivers and rubs at his arms and when he leaves, there's a familiar weight within, the knowledge that Hannibal had done this on purpose and that it can't possibly be as simple as using Miriam to prove his innocence.

Will's lost in his own head for the rest of the day, and well into Sunday. He has nightmares. He wakes and isn't sure he's awake, and he sleeps and thinks he already is. There's exhaustion and stress etched into every line of his body as Will works at slowly pulling his life back together from the Hell it had been forced into. On more than one occasion he finds himself looking at his rifle and thinking of going to Hannibal's house in Baltimore.

He doesn't go. He entertains the thought and presses the pad of his thumb into the bruises to his hip one night as he sips at old whiskey and watches his dogs run around. It helps to center him.

*** * ***

Jack gives Will his badge and ID back on Tuesday. He catches Will outside of the hospital he'd been directed to go to in order to check on the state of his shoulder. Their conversation is tense. Will's lips thin as he seriously considers declining Jack's offer and fucking off. He can go back to teaching. He doesn't need to work with people who thought him guilty. Just as he's considering the best place to tell Jack where he can shove his badge, Jack also pulls out Will's handgun.

Will stares at it.

"A return to active duty," Jack says stiffly. "When you're ready. But given that the Chesapeake Ripper made a point to take credit for his work, you should stay armed, just in case."

"Just in case he's taken offense to all this," Will translates, and Jack's nod looks pained. Will looks down at it, at his gun and his ID and his badge. He swallows. "Isn't it a little reckless giving me a weapon, Jack?"

"Not if you use it the way you've been trained to."

Will takes his gun. He takes his badge, and ID, but he doesn't immediately take Jack's offer. He says he'll consult, but not every day. He's still recovering from being _shot_. And if Jack has any protests, his guilt makes him forget to voice them.

*** * ***

Matthew visits him once on Tuesday evening and helps him a little around the house. Will insists that he doesn't have to but together they work at winter-proofing the windows and doors. Will offers Matthew a drink after, and while there is a lingering tension between them, nothing else happens. Matthew just tells him he wants to see him at his place after Will next sees Hannibal (as Will mentions it offhandedly) and he gives Will his address. Will takes it and Matthew leaves not long after.

It's Wednesday when Will makes his decision. Thursday is tomorrow and his standing appointment with Hannibal is still open. He drives to town, and though he is painfully out of his depth, he wanders stiffly through stores, the collar of his jacket drawn up, his head bowed. He looks suspicious and he knows it, but he doesn't make it obvious. Instead Will asks for help from the store staff and says goodbye to a bit of his savings. His shoulder is throbbing when he makes it home that evening, but he's well prepared for the appointment tomorrow. He goes to bed after playing with the dogs, energized by a swell of purpose.

*** * ***

On Thursday evening, Will feeds his dogs, lets them out, and then goes to get dressed. While not up to Hannibal's standards, he knows he looks good, and for a long moment he simply stares at himself in the mirror and looks.

His slacks are more fitted than usual, and a dark black that matches his shoes. His shirt is an off-salmon color and he purposefully leaves the top two buttons undone so that the lingering hickey on his throat can be seen when he bends down a little. Will looks at himself and reaches up to run his fingers back through his shorter hair, intentionally styled more now, and after slipping on his jacket, he hesitates.

When he leaves his house, his dogs safely inside, it's with his gun beside him on the passenger's seat of his car. He drives in silence the whole way to Baltimore. When he arrives at Hannibal's office, Will steadies himself, breathes deep, and reaches for his gun. He tucks it into the back of his pants with the safety on. There's one bullet in the chamber.

He walks through the familiar hall and into the waiting room. Every ostentatious painting, every statute, every single item that had once calmed him now only makes him ache. He'd been so fucking blind. He'd _trusted_ Hannibal once. He'd trusted him more than Will had ever allowed himself to trust anyone else, and Hannibal had fucked him over. It's time to even the score.

He doesn't sit when he reaches the room. Instead, he steps just heavy enough that he knows Hannibal will hear him. Will doesn't knock. He turns around to look at the paintings on the walls. His jacket is folded over his arm, obscuring the line of sight to his gun. Will doesn't look back at the door. Something tells him that seeing Hannibal without preparing for it would make it so much more tempting to grab the gun, and he wants to be controlled for this.

He needs to be. He can't be a victim anymore. He has to be Hannibal.

* * *

While a table is between them, it's not his dinner table and Alana Bloom is not charmed. Hannibal folds his jacket, places it on the stainless steel table top and sits. Hannibal makes himself look affected, mildly offended that he is the usual suspect. But it's easy enough to put on a show. He tells Alana that he appreciates her company while he walks to stand in front of the two-way mirror.

Miriam Lass will be unable to identify him. Hannibal Lecter does good work. Alana is still blind, but it will likely take more work to fully convince Jack. Hannibal's not worried, for he has a gift to deliver soon.

He's going to give Jack Crawford the Chesapeake Ripper.

*** * ***

On Thursday morning, Hannibal considers his wardrobe. He's truly curious whether or not Will is going to pay him a visit this evening. A part of him wishes to dress up for the occasion. Something bolder, perhaps. Something to have Will's eyes distracted as he takes in each detail, the delicate balance of patterns that _shouldn't_ work, but do. He spends more time than he would like to admit going through various options all the while warring between irritation and a small flicker of hope.

(Hannibal remembers the interesting sensation of _disappointment_ when Will had missed one of their appointments early on. The phone had been in his hand. It would have been far more polite to call and yet he'd opted to drive and seek Will out. He'd never have done it for another patient. It had been absurd for him, but Hannibal was never the type to deny himself much. He had looked like the dedicated and concerned friend, but truthfully, a dull ache had begun to settle into his bones and it wasn't from aging.)

In the end, he chooses nothing overly special. He dresses and goes about his day. Of course in the back of his mind he wonders. He may look at his watch - obviously not the same one he'd destroyed a few weeks ago - more often than he should. Hannibal's last appointment leaves promptly at 7PM. Will's appointment is at 7:30. He's wearing a half-zip pullover in a houndstooth check pattern. Underneath a blue dress shirt with a red tie snugly around his neck. For Hannibal, ties and properly-fitted clothing have never felt like a confinement. It's orderliness. Containment. It's him.

He has wine and a book open when he hears someone enter the waiting room. Hannibal pauses, but before he can think on it, he's placing the wine glass down on his desk and rising. It must be Will Graham. He takes even and unhurried strides to the door to his waiting room and then turns the knob, pulling the door open.

A different Will Graham awaits him. Will's back is turned to him, but Hannibal can tell by the cut of his pants and the lay of the shirt, that he's been shopping. His hair is also trimmed.

"Right on time," Hannibal states as Will turns around. "It's nice to see you, Will. Would you like to come in?" Hannibal's smile is politely cool as he gestures into his office. It doesn't feel like "old times," but he knows it cannot be.

* * *

It's not too late to leave. The thought slides over Will's mind as he stands and looks at Hannibal's painting, eyeing it curiously. It's chaotic. Certainly an odd choice to have hanging in such a waiting room, but Hannibal probably gets a kick out of it.

The weight of the gun in the back of Will's pants is enough to draw his attention to it again. Hannibal will notice that he's here before long but until then, he lets his mind wander to the last time that Will had held his gun. He remembers pointing it at Hannibal, remembers the flare of righteousness. Then he remembers the searing fire in his shoulder and the sensation of the kitchen counter slamming into his back. Will shifts; the gun is weighted noticeably and he thinks back to what Hannibal had said. Hannibal had wanted to know how it would feel to kill him. Will isn't sure, but he knows it's not something he intends to waste.

The door behind him clicks. Will draws a quick, short breath and closes his eyes. His pulse surges and then evens out until he's tempted to press his fingers to his wrist. It's almost slow, almost relaxed. Somehow fitting.

The sound of Hannibal's voice brings it all back, but this time there are no bars between them. There are no security cameras to collar Will and keep him in check. The rage is so volatile that it's almost nauseating, but Will carefully gathers it all up and shoves it back.

He makes himself breathe. He _forces_ his shoulders to relax, more so because he doesn't want to give Hannibal the satisfaction than because he's actually relaxed. Will braces himself silently and then moves. He turns around, and he is impressed with himself for keeping his expression as calm as he does. Hannibal looks the same. Will looks different. How fitting that their exteriors now reflect their interiors.

"Hello, Doctor Lecter," Will says as cordially as he can manage. His voice doesn't shake. His gun is almost acting as the counterweight for it like it's attempting to keep him steady so he can manage this conversation. "Yes, thank you."

So _fucking_ polite. Will's smile holds no warmth, just as Hannibal's doesn't. As he steps past Hannibal, he wonders if Hannibal can kill him here. Well, he _could_. He'd likely get caught for it, but it will always be a possibility. Will dismisses it as he wanders inside, looking around at the office. It's so fucking familiar except for one thing: the chairs.

Will looks at them quietly. When had they grown that far apart? Or... oh. The realization hits him a second before he makes his choice. Shifting enough to turn and drape his jacket over the arm of the chair, Will sits. As he does so he slips his gun free, letting it rest under the edge of his jacket. He stares at the chairs, then glances back at Hannibal.

"Other patients not quite as engaging as I am? Did you always move the chairs back to where they were after our appointments? I never noticed."

* * *

During their last conversation, there had been bars in between them and likely cameras watching and microphones recording. There is nothing but space between them now. Will this be a reunion, or will it be a showdown? Will Graham stands before Hannibal a free man (by Hannibal's own doing, of course).

Hannibal sees Will from the front and now takes a closer look at the slightly nicer clothing and styled hair. It's Will Graham with a little polish. Hannibal can appreciate the effort Will has taken to come to him better groomed. He can also appreciate the final product. Hannibal's mind takes a particular turn, immediately indulging itself. He wonders how Will would react to a gift -- something tailored and sharp, something to match this new Will Graham.

(It's a fanciful notion to want to play dress-up with Will -- to have him clothed in the best, to imagine Will in a properly-tailored and fitted suit and standing next to _him_. Although such a scenario would likely never come to pass, Hannibal knows he would jump at the chance to be allowed to mold Will in such a way.)

Even with the lower lighting, Hannibal can make out the bruising along Will's collarbone. He's certain Will had deliberately left the top buttons undone to enable him to see the marks. Should Hannibal feel flattered? They've changed color, now more faded, but the bruises remain an ugly eye-sore for him.

Of course, Hannibal doesn't _show_ any of this. At the hospital, Will had genuinely surprised him by pulling down the collar and revealing the suck marks. Hannibal has had time to process why the marks had been left and by whom. He'd left Alana with a few in return, after all.

But what lies beneath this seemingly-composed surface? Will's voice is polite but cool. It mirrors Hannibal's own and Hannibal has to wonder if Will could become as great of an actor as he. There's an air of volatility around Will. Of danger. Hannibal hasn't forgotten that Will had intended to shoot him in the Hobbs' kitchen; Will had been massively unstable at the time. Hannibal knows that there could still be a vengeful side of Will who is going to attempt to lash out, but Hannibal would rather believe that he's now proven himself much more interesting to have around.

Hannibal closes the door behind them and locks it. He's not interested in any uninvited guests. He curiously watches Will take in the familiar environment. Nothing has changed on this front and yet Hannibal knows that very little will be the same between them. It's a realization that has Hannibal feeling a little wistful. He sits after Will does and crosses one leg over the other, folding his hands in his lap. It's an image that Will should be rather used to.

But maybe something _has_ changed. The chairs, apparently. Will notices the distance between the chairs. Hannibal almost smiles.

"You had no reason to notice. You also had a lot on your mind. I merely moved them closer as your trust toward me increased," Hannibal explains. "But now if you would answer me a question, why are you here?”

* * *

Fitting. The thought strikes Will as he glances from his chair to Hannibal's and then back again, his gaze slow, as if he's trying to silently lock away everything he possibly can for further consideration later.

Of course Hannibal would have moved the chairs. Having a measurable distance would have appealed to a man like Hannibal. Will looks down at the floor, and while there are no scuff marks and no proof that Hannibal has ever moved the chairs, he looks down at each individual floorboard.

The first one would have been 'acquaintances', perhaps strangers. The second an increase of trust. Will wonders where Hannibal's silent lines have been drawn, wonders which floorboards mark _friend_ or _confidant_. He wonders bitterly where the chairs had been when Hannibal had framed him and let his brain burn in his skull.

Will feels the sudden jolt of anger and nausea acutely, so strongly that his jaw works over words he won't say. He draws in a slow breath to calm himself and blinks off a little of the nervous energy that tells him to press his fucking gun to Hannibal's forehead and take a chance.

Beverly is gone. Abigail is gone. The only friendship Will had ever truly trusted is gone. Hannibal has whisked Alana away from him intentionally, and Will is left wondering how long it will be before Jack fully turns on him as well. That's the problem with being The Guy Who _Didn't_ Kill All Those People. Maybe he hadn't killed anyone, but people have still died. The walking dead. Will wonders how long Alana and Jack will stay breathing while playing this game. How long will Matthew? How long will _he?_

How long will Hannibal?

Will's exhale holds the slightest of tremors, but it's the only visible sign that he is affected by the knowledge. Across from him, Hannibal sits like he always had. His clothes are different; Will can't see a suit jacket (maybe a conscious effort to fake friendliness, a casual conversation...). Hannibal regards him, ever composed, like he hadn't just ripped through Will's life like one of his fucking scalpels. Like he hadn't removed parts that had made Will whole.

He knows immediately that this had been a bad idea. He's too emotionally charged to remain impartial, but he wrestles his urges down - to scream, to curl up on himself, to threaten, to kill, maybe to cry - and when he looks at Hannibal, his gaze is level. Will doesn't know why he's here. Not really. But as the emotions claw at him, he comes to a realization that makes him almost want to laugh. Violent emotions? Repressed feelings? And a psychiatrist across from him. How fucking fitting...

"This _is_ our standing appointment time, isn't it?" He asks rhetorically, and his voice holds a forced lightness he doesn't feel. "You kept it open. Clearly you were hoping I'd show. _Hope_... that's got to be a weird feeling for you, huh? An emotion that relies solely on forces beyond your control, on another person not letting you down..."

Will glances at Hannibal sharply; he doesn't need to say the unspoken: _you let me down._ Instead he sits straighter and leans forward, his hands coming to rest on his thighs.

"I'd like to resume my therapy. I have... emotions I need to process. Sense to make of what you did to me. How fortunate that I seem to have you at my disposal even now. Hope is a funny thing, isn't it, Doctor Lecter?”

* * *

Most patients he saw were dull. Most held no promise, droning on and on, but having no desire to _do_ anything about their so-called problems. Often they would sniffle and lament and blame everyone and everything but themselves. No personal accountability. (Hannibal had never moved the chairs closer for another patient.)

A few, though... A few held potential and could be interesting to play around with. Hannibal had experienced an entire gamut of patients, but none of them had held appeal like Will Graham. Will Graham had caught his attention, a diamond in the rough, something precious that Hannibal had quickly snatched up.

Examined. Observed. Exploited. Manipulated. Endangered even, but despite Will's suffering, Will is here. Despite his best interests, Will sits across from him. Will, who knows who and what _he_ is, and yet cannot abandon this game. Effectively Will's been given a second chance. Will ought to have stayed home with his dogs this evening, if he'd known what was good for him. Will should move far, far away. Will had been Hannibal's Icarus, flying with beautifully crafted wings, but upon soaring too close to the sun, the subsequent heat had melted the wax.

But Will hadn't plummeted to the sea and drowned. Hannibal had caught him and now Hannibal doesn't _want_ Will to drown. Not anymore. (And even Hannibal knows it's unwise to be dealing with this man sitting across from him. Will may not be suffering from encephalitis, but Hannibal suspects there's a great deal of volatility and anger brewing inside of Will... and yet he won’t be withdrawing from their game either.)

Hope. Will mentions hope and Will is correct in this circumstance. He _had_ hoped that Will would make an appearance tonight, but Hannibal could have done nothing to make it so. Hannibal doesn't miss the pointed look Will sends him. He's quite aware that his actions had betrayed Will's trust both in a personal and professional capacity. But he used to be a surgeon. He knows how to close wounds on the body. Hannibal _hopes_ he can succeed at such an endeavor here as well, to stitch Will back together as it were.

"Cicero said, ‘While there's life, there's hope,’" Hannibal replies. His posture is relaxed, but internally he's on edge, unsure what to expect and uncertain which direction to take them. "I imagine it wasn't only hopewhich helped you bear your incarceration. Tell me, Will, was it thoughts of your so-called reckoning that kept you warm at night?"

* * *

The gun is a cool press against Will's side. The longer he looks at Hannibal, the more he aches to feel the press of cold metal in his hand. He wants to feel the weight of it wrapped in his fingers and wants Hannibal to know what it feels like to be afraid. Has he ever felt fear? Is he capable of it? Will knows that he's capable of anger and jealousy, but only because Hannibal had slipped back in the BSHCI. One glance at the mark on Will's neck and Hannibal's lip had curled, his jaw had clenched, and Will had been left feeling stunned and righteous. He only wishes he could feel that now.

 _Now_ it's hard to think past the anger. Now the facade is difficult to maintain when he has a solution almost at hand. There's no knife close. Hannibal's scalpels are on the desk. It would be so goddamned simple. But a bullet to the brain is so inelegant and messy; as much as Hannibal would deserve it, Will doesn't want him dead. Well... he does. But _dead_ isn't enough.

This isn't normal anger; this is personal. He wants Hannibal to _feel_ how personal it is. As Will looks at him and listens to the steady cadence of Hannibal's voice, he feels his pulse pick up speed.

 _Where there's life, there's hope._ Unfortunately, that doesn't help one fucking bit if you _kill_ everyone. Will bites the comment back.

He doesn't even realize that Hannibal has given him an opening until he's already talking. Will's focus is on remaining steady, on keeping his voice from shaking. He's only half-successful. He wants Hannibal to _hurt_.

"'So-called'?" He repeats, voice almost flat. "I told you there would be a reckoning when I remembered, and I remember enough. I remember you. I remember the tube." Will swallows, his jaw working mildly, chin lifting as if making room for the tube in question.

He shifts in his seat, clearly disquieted. "Mostly I remember the _violation_. You need to work on your phototherapy, Doctor. You're not very good at it."

Will draws in a slow, steady breath to make himself calm. He closes his eyes for four beats of his heart, the pause pregnant enough that Will doesn't worry about Hannibal cutting in. Will hasn't answered his question, after all. _That_ isn't what Hannibal wants to know, and it isn't what Will wants to say.

"But to answer your question, no. Thoughts of my reckoning gave me satisfaction, but they didn't keep me warm. _Matthew_ kept me warm." Will opens his eyes, and there's no hesitation in the way he looks directly at Hannibal.

"Figuratively _and_ literally. He's been helping me. He grounded me when I was released. Drove me home. I guess it's true what they say. One door closing, another one opening, and so on..."

* * *

Hannibal's words have unknowingly woken a sleeping dragon. The mention of Will's _so-called reckoning_ has stoked Will's anger. Hannibal can see the flare of indignation in Will's eyes, the anger in the tight set of his jaw and the lift to his head. So Will had been able to recall the tube and the feeding of Abigail's ear? Remarkable boy. Hannibal is impressed that he'd been able to untangle it all. The biting remark about his skill in phototherapy has Hannibal's lips twitching down ever so slightly. Miriam Lass will show Will soon enough just how skilled he is. (Hannibal has a few more pieces to move around, but he's confident in how the events will play out.)

Hannibal understands that Will is lashing out. He's been expecting such barbed comments to come his way. He does nothing but smooth out his expression and watch Will close his eyes in an attempt to reel himself back in. When Will's eyes open and he continues on, Hannibal is _not_ prepared for the words that follow. Hannibal is not prepared for Will to brazenly bring up and flaunt Matthew Brown.

But perhaps he _should_ have been. After all, Will had orchestrated his arrangement with Matthew from behind bars. Matthew had bitten Will, with Will's consent of course. And their intention had been to aggravate him. Hannibal hadn't spent enough time talking to Matthew Brown to be able to fully understand his motivations, and even if he had, Matthew is now in Will's pocket. Will is able to manipulate him. Hannibal is at a distinct disadvantage here.

And Will had made it clear that he would not see Hannibal if anything were to happen to Matthew.

Hannibal's face is tight, tension thrumming underneath his skin. He has the urge to get up, promptly smash his wine glass on his desk, and then jab it into Will's neck. Afterward, he could lick and enjoy the few lingering droplets from Will's skin. (Of course he won't; he knows what life is like without Will Graham. But the desire is there nonetheless.)

"As I told Alana over dinner, although it might seem out of character for you, finding and taking on a supposed _boyfriend_ is understandable," Hannibal replies, his voice cool, clinical. "But I imagine he can only do so much for you... After all, you did turn up on my doorstep, so to speak." Hannibal gives Will a terse, little smile.

Will coming here unbidden is a victory for Hannibal. Evidence, even. He'll cling to it.

* * *

There's a hot, visceral thrill that shoots through Will when he sees Hannibal's reaction. That's what he's looking for: a reaction. Will wants to see Hannibal's anger, wants to watch the facade melt away. He wants to see what's under the mask, to name it so that he can break it.

Hannibal is a man of masks and misdirection and Will had fallen so beautifully for it. A careful lure made with everything he'd needed. Hannibal had mixed kindness with understanding, and he'd tied it with bright flashes of care and accented it with just enough darkness to catch Will's attention. As a fisherman, Will is almost impressed. As a man, there's a gaping chasm left behind where stability had once been, and infection has already set in. Stability has been replaced with anger and bitterness and a visceral need for destruction, and watching Hannibal _visibly react_ is enough to quicken Will's pulse, to turn his breathing slightly shallow.

It doesn't matter if he loses this exchange. He's put a crack in Hannibal's armor. Just for a second, Hannibal had faltered enough to let Will in, and Will tears up everything he can, greedily carving out his mark in Hannibal's space like a wild animal.

Hannibal looks at him like he wants to grab a scalpel and cross the distance between them, and Will feels his gun like a brand against his hip. They stare each other down for a long few poignant seconds and then Hannibal visibly eases back. It's nothing more than a release of tension, but it's Hannibal conceding to Will's point regardless of whether or not he wants to.

Will doesn't blink when Hannibal finds his voice. Instead he braces himself; he doesn't think for a moment that this is over, especially given the almost-sneer in Hannibal's voice when he says the word ' _boyfriend_ '. Will lifts his chin, unthinkingly exposing the fading mark left behind, but Hannibal's eventual response is enough to make Will still. It's then that he realizes how completely he has Hannibal over a goddamn barrel. Hannibal sounds cold, bordering on petulant. It doesn't mean his comment doesn't enrage, doesn't mean it doesn't sting. But Will can still take pleasure in the knowledge that Hannibal has been reduced to boasting.

...but he still has a point. Will _is_ here. It _is_ a victory for Hannibal, unless Will takes that away from him too.

"And you think you can give me what he can't?" Will asks, and his voice is almost toneless. "He was _there._ He sought me out. He offered his services. _He_ drove me home. _He_ was there when I got my dogs back. _He_ came over to help with the house."

Will's voice rises steadily with every point he's made. When he finishes, he's not loud, but his voice is no longer calm or quiet. It's alive with repressed emotion, with anger and regret and a miasma of so much he can't name. He leans in just a little, almost baiting, because now he knows that Hannibal isn't as unaffected as he wants Will to believe.

"And he was the one to offer... comfort... when I needed it."

It's clear by his tone that 'comfort' is not all that Matthew had offered him. "There's nothing you can give me that he can't, because I'm not letting you. I'm letting him."

* * *

Hannibal does not tolerate petulance well in others, but he knows that taking Alana Bloom and leaving a mark on her neck, had been just that. Will's playing with Matthew now, gathering him up like a tool to be then fashioned into a weapon and used against him. While Hannibal is not pleased with this course of action, if nothing else he has to applaud Will's tenacity.

Will is fighting back and leaving victimhood behind. Gone are the theatrical tears and it's a nice show of spirit. What's also amusing to Hannibal is Will's continuing disregard for the welfare of others. Despite knowing Agent Katz's demise, Will is involving another in their games (although, truthfully, Matthew had done that himself).

_'And you think you can give me what he can't?'_

Hannibal's eyes narrow slightly. Is that even a legitimate question? He can't begin to fathom what Will is getting at--

Until Will lists off scenarios where Hannibal has apparently failed him. It's his turn to feel the flare of righteous indignation. As if he wouldn't have visited more if Will had wanted to see him. As if he wouldn't have offered Will a ride home if he had thought it would have been accepted. Dogs. Helping with the house. Sickeningly domestic and rustic. Ridiculous too. (He can picture Matthew's cocksure grin and Hannibal wants to destroy that image.)

Will's words are a conduit for his emotions. His voice gradually becomes louder as he connects with anger and hurt. Hannibal is perfectly still, a statue in face of the show of emotion. Will goes further, leaning forward to display the bruises for him.

Hannibal swallows and focuses on taking even breaths. His eyes flick to the wine glass sitting on his desk. It's tempting, it truly is. Will is being terribly rude and would deserve it... and yet Hannibal merely looks back at this volatile creature who is seeking to hurt him in return. A gift of reciprocity.

' _There's nothing you can give me that he can't, because I'm not letting you. I'm letting him.'_

Spirited and cunning, then. Cruel, too.

"Did you come here to gloat, Will?" Hannibal asks casually. His hands smooth out a wrinkle on his trousers. "I hope you at least feel better now. But if there is nothing for me to offer you then I hardly see the reason for this appointment or for your therapy to resume."

Hannibal gives Will an appraising look. This new Will Graham with his polish and sharp edges, how will he react to the threat of Hannibal pulling away?

"Or are you merely wishing me to sit here while you sling your stones and flaunt Matthew's marks? You wish to hurt me, to exploit my inconvenient desire? To see me _jealous_?"

Hannibal resists the urge to sigh, but only just. He had such hopes for this evening and they've been dashed so very quickly. In this tense moment, he hardly knows if Will's presence is worth it. Cutting their appointment short holds appeal. He's not one to run away, but he won't let himself be Will's punching bag either. It's tedious.

* * *

Will is playing a dangerous game, but that hardly comes as a surprise to him. Hasn't he been playing a dangerous game since he'd stupidly accepted Jack's offer all those months ago? He'd let Jack lure him in with the thought of helping people, saving lives. Maybe he had, but it had been at the expense of his own. It always will be.

Will is quiet as he stares Hannibal down. He watches as Hannibal slides a glance towards his desk and Will darts a quick look at it. There's no scalpel there, no visible weapon, but there is a wine glass. He considers, thoughtful. Is Hannibal entertaining thoughts of killing him? Maybe the thought should alarm Will, but it doesn't. He's known since the moment he joined homicide that there wasn't going to be a happy ending for him. Maybe it'll be the Ripper, maybe it'll be a disgruntled civilian, maybe it'll be the father of a victim. Life is fleeting, but as Hannibal had so aptly said: where there's life, there's hope.

As long as Will is alive, he's going to push. And he's going to hope to bring Hannibal down to his level.

Will regards the man across from him, and as he does, he watches Hannibal smooth a wrinkle on his pants, his voice casual and unaffected. How had he ever thought Hannibal to be so damn calm? Like this, now, Will can see the hidden corners. It's like one of those pictures children often see - apply a filter and watch a seemingly innocuous image come to life with hidden ink. That's what this feels like.

Hannibal's surface is calm but under that surface is a writhing anger that Will greedily admires.

Even so, he's not expecting Hannibal to withdraw. He straightens almost imperceptibly, but it's enough. Hannibal will notice, and Will silently curses himself. He's taken aback; would Hannibal so readily cut this short? Would he send Will away?

Maybe. It could appeal to his sense of righteous justice and for a moment Will is honestly uncertain. An uncomfortable doubt settles in his posture. Hannibal wants to monopolize his time, doesn't he? That's the only reason he's still breathing...

And it is. It _is_ the only reason Will's still breathing. It takes Will a few moments to suspect that this is a bluff. Either he's wrong and he's dead, or he's right and he's winning. He hopes to God it's the latter.

"I came here to see you, Doctor. I wanted to look at you and know you as you are. To see you with open eyes on equal ground."

Will slowly leans back in his seat. He reclines - a blatantly familiar gesture - and after a moment, Will crosses one leg over the other. Except for the fact that he's reclining, his posture mirrors Hannibal's.

"I don't _wish_ to do anything. I have done it. You're hurt. As much as you can be right now. And you _are_ jealous. Alana is proof of that. You know, I didn't even know," Will continues, almost conversationally. The accusation in his tone is less now; instead, he sounds almost thoughtful.

"I had no idea, but Matthew did. I didn't even know for sure until you saw this." He gestures idly to his throat, to the mark. "I thought he was fucking with me. I really did. What was the plan? Lock me away? Keep your canary in a cage to sing pretty for you? Only it stopped singing for you and started singing for someone else. Then... what? You missed me?"

Will frowns, and in the back of his mind, the old child's rhyme sounds. _Miss me, miss me, now you've got to..._

* * *

There had been no precedent for this in Hannibal's life and therefore it makes sense that there is no appropriate recourse to take, or at least there's nothing that would continue to be satisfying. (Killing Will would be a short-lived pleasure.)

Yes, Will is being unspeakably rude, but there are reasons behind his actions. Hannibal may not like said reasons, but it's universally known that hurt people hurt people. Such a silly English phrase, and yet it sums this moment up neatly. It's perhaps the only simple thing about their entire relationship.

Oh, Hannibal can appreciate the irony. Hannibal can appreciate that he's 'reaping what he's sown', but irony and its appreciation do nothing to assuage Will's acrimony. There's a steady flame of anger and indignation within Hannibal. Underneath that, bitterness and, yes, hurt. Pesky emotions. Still human and apparently still able to be brought low by it. Years later Hannibal thinks he may be able to find some gratitude for the reminder - for Will teaching him a lesson - but not now.

Not now.

Now, he observes Will falter ever so slightly. He witnesses a spark of doubt in Will after Hannibal presumes to send him away. Will wants to play with his food, a cat gleefully batting at a mouse... Hannibal has no plans on being played with. But Will seems to recover as he delivers his rebuttal. Will chooses to recline and crosses his legs, a mirroring of Hannibal's own posture. Hannibal blinks, slightly curious.

"All creatures fight to survive, no? When a threat is noticed, when their situation becomes dire, there's an instinctual urge that rises up, a fight to persevere." Hannibal is nothing if not a survivor and he's shown it to Will now. He pauses for a moment before wetting his bottom lip. "It was undoubtedly a risk to continue seeing you, and yet I did so anyway. I only took appropriate actions to ensure my survival and took no pleasure in seeing you locked away."

Hannibal is taking a risk here. Will could possibly be recording their conversation to try and sic Jack back on him, but Hannibal thinks being blunt will work in his favor.

"So, I'm hurt now. I'm jealous. What now, Will?" The words taste bitter, the confession all but squeezed out of him. But he'll allow Will these admissions, for fighting against them will do nothing but prolong the dispute.

* * *

The issue is that Will _isn't_ recording this conversation. He should be. He knows how to rig a wire and he knows how to conceal the folds in his clothing, his jacket. It had been standard practice back in Homicide. That he isn't wearing a wire now is proof of how far Hannibal has dragged him down.

Like the hawks Matthew had so often called him, Hannibal has struck him out of the sky to fly low and dazed; Will isn't operating as he should, but who's to say what he should or shouldn't do? As he looks at Hannibal, at the calm tone of his voice - the small way he wets his lips as he speaks - he wonders if he even wants Hannibal caught.

For a moment, Will allows himself to imagine it. He doesn't want innocent people to die, but those are the only kinds that die in a game like this. He imagines Hannibal locked away, an IV sunk deep into his arm, his eyes dazed and drugged before flipping the switch on the electric chair.

The thought brings him no pleasure, only a sick twist of empathy he doesn't want. He doesn't want Hannibal dead, and he doesn't want to know what _he_ would do were Hannibal to simply remain locked up for the rest of his life. Dead, Hannibal's memory shatters him. Locked away, Will would always know where he was. The temptation would always be there. Alive and free... there are variables. There are options.

But more people will die.

The dilemma is one between rage, revenge, selfishness and selflessness. So when Hannibal just so bluntly says what he does, the way Will's eyes widen isn't a game. There's no farce to it. He sits, surprised, as he'd imagined a rebuttal. He'd imagined _denial_. He'd imagined snarling at Hannibal, screaming at him, shoving the gun to his head and firing. What he hadn't imagined was honesty and somehow it's fitting that _this_ is what truly guts him.

Will's next breath is audible, the exhale hitched. His brow pinches as if pained and he just looks at Hannibal in stricken silence.

"You took no-- You took no _pleasure_ in seeing..." The words are weak, and they feel like they're slipping through a colander in his mind, like the weight of them is like sand slipping between his fingers. " _You_ took no pleasure in seeing me locked away-- I lived it!"

Will's voice raises sharply, so sharply that not even he is expecting it. It's the crack in the dam, the first real showing of anger that Will has allowed himself. It's visceral and curling, a beast in his chest that leaves his hands tingling at the pressure his suddenly-rigid muscles are pressing against his nerves. His hands are shaking.

"Am I supposed to be grateful? It was a _risk_ to see me-- If the trial had gone differently, they would have _killed me_. You didn't do anything that you didn't _want_ to do. I thought the best of you. You were my friend. I _trusted_ you. You started fucking with my mind long before I started to catch on, and then you took--" Will's voice breaks. It's subtle, but it's just enough.

He stands suddenly, and when he rises, it's with the gun in his hand. He looks at it for a moment, silent, almost as if surprised to see it, and then he turns and points it at Hannibal, in the center of his forehead.

"You took _everything_ from me," he says softly, voice unsteady. "Because you could. Because you don't want me to have anything in my life that isn't you..."

* * *

His straightforwardness has Will caught off guard. Hannibal feels a twinge of satisfaction, for it's Will's turn to be surprised now. But Will doesn't remain surprised for long, Hannibal's words likely replaying through his mind as Will chooses to take offense at Hannibal using the word 'pleasure.' Hannibal merely sits as still as he can, his hands remaining folded in his lap as Will sounds stricken by the phrasing.

The phrasing had been honest. Hannibal had chosen his words for their simplicity, not for any sense of theatrics. But in true Will Graham fashion, Hannibal cannot entirely predict him.

Hannibal is no stranger to seeing Will in distress. He wears it well. The anger is beautiful on him and Hannibal admires it as Will shakes with fury and airs his grievances. Hannibal nods as Will gives him another list of sorts. There was a risk in having Will tried. Will had trusted him. Will had seen the best in him (an incorrect image, one that Hannibal isn't sad to see go).

And then Will is standing and revealing a gun.

A gun. It lacks intimacy, but perhaps it's right up Will's alley. Will doesn't wish to be intimate with him. It's a challenge to remain objective and angry when one connects with the agonizing hurt underneath the rage. Hannibal understands this well. Although he hasn't been this angry in decades, he can remember the near consuming rage against a despicable human who took--

_'Because you could. Because you don't want me to have anything in my life that isn't you...'_

"Oh, Will," Hannibal murmurs, a touch of fondness can be heard in his tone. He uncrosses his legs and rises. Hannibal walks toward Will, the distance between them feeling far smaller now. Hannibal's own hand reaches out to wrap around Will's wrist on the gun. He doesn't push or try to wrest it away. He directs the gun higher and takes another half-step so the barrel rests against his forehead.

Will is uncertain. Hannibal doesn't think he will squeeze the trigger, but Will needs this.

"Do you think I would have allowed you to rot or die behind bars?" Hannibal asks softly.

"If necessary, I would have killed every single person that stood between us. I still would." He lets that sink in for a moment. Hannibal's thumb strokes up Will's own. "You know what kind of man I am and you have done what no other could: you have compromised me. In catching my eye, in earning my favor, in stoking my desire... I am at your mercy here. Do you want to introduce a bullet into my skull? Or do you want something else?"

* * *

The heavy thrum of Will's pulse is pounding in his ears as he levels the gun at Hannibal's head, despite the distance between them. There's a scream in the back of his head that's been growing louder and louder ever since seeing Hannibal again. And as Will stands there, arm outstretched, gun leveled and chest moving with each quick, ragged breath, he imagines letting it out.

He imagines pulling the trigger. For a second he can almost see it, sweet and red and Hannibal's look of shock frozen forever on his face. But even as Will's fingers readjust on the grip of the gun, it feels wrong.

This isn't what he wants. This isn't his design. (That he _has_ a design now is both thrilling and terrifying, but he'd made his choice the moment he'd sent Matthew after Hannibal).

He thinks for a moment that Hannibal has to be able to hear his pulse, because it sounds so goddamn loud in his ears. Will's knuckles are white on the gun and he feels almost disconnected with the force of the emotions slamming into him. Anger, rage, hurt, loss, agony, fear... it's a conglomerate of suffering. And in this raw, unguarded moment, he swears he can see Hannibal's satisfaction.

Of course, the sick bastard would like seeing him like this. Because Hannibal is a sadist. Hannibal is a sociopath. Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper.

Will reaffirms his grip, but notes a second later that Hannibal is no longer sitting. He tenses and tells himself he's _going_ to shoot with every step Hannibal takes. The fondness in his eyes is something Will wants to see painted on the walls in blood and the kindness in his voice is almost agonizing.

He doesn't shoot. He just holds the gun and when Hannibal reaches over to touch his wrist, Will draws in a quick, stilted breath and grips the gun so tightly that his forearm aches. And it's like that that Will watches as Hannibal _lifts_ the gun. It presses against Hannibal's forehead, paling the skin, and Will's pulse skips so hard that he almost coughs with the force.

His hand is shaking, but the gun is steady, and he realizes belatedly that it's because Hannibal is keeping it steady. Rage and regret swirl within like a hurricane and Will's jaw clenches so tightly that he can hardly breathe with it. Hannibal's voice is deceptively gentle, and despite it all, despite everything, for a moment Will realizes that if he could forget - if he could lock it all back up and throw the memories away and live in blind bliss, he would. That's why Hannibal is dangerous. That's why he needs to pull the trigger.

He doesn't.

Instead Hannibal's thumb strokes his own and Will's shiver is almost visceral in its intensity. Hannibal speaks of being compromised, of being at Will's mercy, but Will suddenly doesn't feel like he's a man in control.

He aches. He hurts. He's livid. He's lost. And all of it is because of Hannibal Lecter.

Will looks at the gun, at the safety on it, and he silently flicks it off. He still doesn't pull the trigger.

"Mercy. My mercy," he says, and his voice is rough with emotion. "How fortunate for you that it's _my_ mercy you're under. If you were under your own, you'd already be dead. I should kill you. I _want_ to kill you," Will breathes, and his grip on the gun shifts, his wrist flexing under Hannibal's fingers. "You took _everything_ from me. My reputation. My friends. My dogs. My _mind_. My sanity. You took Ab-... You took Abigail from me. You made me think I'd..."

Will swallows. "And you took Beverly. You made me imagine _killing her_. You put me in that fucking position. I want..." Will takes a slow, affected breath, and presses the gun harder to Hannibal's forehead. "I want you to hurt like I've hurt. I want to see you struggle. I want you to wake up each morning with your goddamn _desire_ and know _you_ are responsible for the way this turned out."

Will's hand twitches a little, his finger settling on the trigger. He glances down at the gun and then he flicks the safety back on, some of the tension leaving his arm. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.

"I want to kill you but I don't want you dead. I want to shoot you but guns aren't nearly intimate enough. I have... need of continued therapy, I think. I don't care if you wouldn't have let me rot. You did enough, and there's a long distance between freedom and death behind bars. But I want to make one thing _very_ clear. If _anything_ happens to Matthew Brown, you will never see me again. Do you understand? If he gets hit by a car, if he gets attacked, if he so much as falls outside of his apartment and breaks his leg - that's it. You get nothing. You won't see me. I want you to live and suffer with the knowledge that you _could_ have had me but you decided my life wasn't worth it."

* * *

The situation Hannibal finds himself in is one of those 'dire' circumstances he'd spoken on earlier. Even before the gun had been involved, the situation had been veering into dangerous territory. This is Hannibal's own creation of recklessness unfolding before his eyes like origami. Hannibal had known that keeping Will Graham alive would result in a tangled mess to deal with in one form or another. What he _should_ have done was facilitate Will's own death. A suicide perhaps. It would have been fitting. Will, aghast with the horrors of discovering Abigail's ear, would have turned to self-extinction as a means to cope with a rapidly spiraling reality.

It would have been far easier with no potential for Will to pull on loose ends.

And yet Hannibal is courting this madness here. He's freed Will and thereby invited Will's chaotic nature into his life. Hannibal no longer has the upper hand here. He is not at an advantage, for Will has seen him. ( _'I can see you now,'_ Will had declared, his hand with a gun pointed at him.) Just how stable is this Will Graham? Just how angry is he? Will surely knows that killing him would be a short-lived delight, for Hannibal suffers the same problem.

Will flicks off the safety. Hannibal blinks. He's always believed love made people foolish, maybe it's time for him to be the fool. Another list is given (friends, reputation, mind, sanity, Abigail, Beverly). Will likely has cycled through these offenses often. They flow like venom. And does Hannibal feel regretful that Will has suffered?

No.

The barrel of the gun is pressed harder to his forehead. Hannibal has many things he'd like to say, but it's very apparent that Will is not done. The answer is almost laughable in its predictability. More suffering for him. Hannibal to take personal responsibility.

The safety is clicked back on. Hannibal is to remain alive then, for now.

Will takes his words to heart ( _‘I still would._ ’ Yes, Hannibal would very much like to kill anyone who got in his way.)

Hannibal won't be killing or harming Matthew Brown, though. A claim has been made. If Hannibal wants to see Will, Matthew must remain whole. Hannibal is not such a desperate man to consider killing Matthew and then stealing away Will. Like the wine glass, there's a sliver of temptation, but Hannibal abhors the idea of forcing Will, for he wants to Will to _choose_ him. It would be meaningless if such a companionship was forced.

_'I want you to live and suffer with the knowledge that you could have had me but you decided my life wasn't worth it.'_

"Now Will, you know any relationship built on a lie would be rocky," Hannibal says benignly. Their friendship had always been deeply one-sided. Yes, he'd betrayed Will, but Hannibal had also supported him and listened. Hannibal had offered Will his company, taken care of his dogs and been a stable pillar for him. Will had given very little in return (although Hannibal hadn’t been looking for much back then). Will hadn't truly wanted to get to know him. Will had labeled him uninteresting, after all.

"You cannot put the scales back on your eyes, as it were." Hannibal's hand unwraps its hold from Will's wrist. "I understand your rules. No harm is to come to Matthew and you will endeavor to find ways to hurt me or exploit my jealousy. I caution you to not lose yourself in your revenge. It can be a rather lonely and unsettling circumstance to find yourself in after receiving exactly what you want."

* * *

It had almost been simple within the BSHCI. It had been hands-off. Behind the iron bars of his cell - his cage - Will had been able to pick the strings up off the floor and maneuver them as he'd wished. He'd been able to wind Matthew's string around his finger and deliver his instructions as he'd ordered Hannibal's death. While Matthew hadn't done as he'd been told, it had started something else, something new. But in the BSHCI, Will hadn't needed to get directly involved. He'd been muzzled, collared, and chained up in a corner to long for what he couldn't have.

Now he's free. Now his hands are his own, not Matthew's. Now, were he to wish it, he could reach out and grab Hannibal's throat and squeeze. The thought gives him a sick twist of pleasure but even that pleasure feels tainted by this new reality.

Before Hannibal, Will had been alone but he'd been fine. With Hannibal, he'd had Abigail, a confidant, a friend, someone he could rely on who had kept his best interests in mind. Now, Will is mourning more than the loss of Abigail Hobbs and Beverly Katz. Now, though it hardly seems sane, he's also mourning Hannibal, or the Hannibal he'd believed he'd known.

He's mourning the loss of support, of a place to belong - a place without judgment. The realization makes something heavy settle in the pit of his stomach, and suddenly there's no point in holding a gun to Hannibal's head. For a brief flash of a moment, Will's impulses are stretched thin.

He wants to shoot. He wants to punch. He wants to talk as he had before this mess. And for some fucked up reason, though briefly, he wants to reach out and fist his hands in Hannibal's collar and drag him in. Not even Will is sure what he'd do at that point, though he thinks he has an idea, and it makes him feel even more conflicted.

Hannibal lets go of his wrist and the sudden loss feels almost like a burn. Will looks at his wrist, almost expecting to see a mark left behind, but there's nothing there. Nothing but his own wrist and the buttoned cuff of a shirt he doesn't know because right now he's playing a part as much as Hannibal is. Will looks at the gun and then closes his eyes. His throat twitches as he swallows, and then he tucks the gun away. Is it a risk? Yes. He hadn't guaranteed _his_ life. Hannibal could still kill him, but Will knows that he won't. He can _see_ now. Hannibal is as snared as he is.

"Can it?" He asks quietly. He chooses to skim over the mention of rocky relationships. Hannibal is right, there. It's unsettling how often Hannibal Lecter is right. "Are you speaking from experience, Doctor?"

Will's lips twist in a mirthless smile. He steps back once to where his chair rests. Will glances at it for a moment, then reaches down and picks up his jacket. He visibly moves the gun from his pants to the pocket of his jacket, and then hesitates, as if he's not sure whether to lay the jacket back down and sit, or put it on and leave.

"This - coming here so soon - was a bad idea. I need to deal with you, properly..." Will sighs. "Even knowing what I want you to feel, what I want you to suffer, will you keep my standing appointment open? Did you miss me that much? Are you even _capable_ of that?"

* * *

This isn't the type of game Hannibal had believed he would be playing with Will. He'd thought it would be a quieter one. A game with less theatrics and rules. A game with less guns pulled on him, too. Hannibal hadn't pictured another major player either. He'd wanted just them. Just them, sitting across from one another, considering each other with their eyes and their words...

Well. Such a fantasy was apparently not meant to be; it's a dream that's now incinerated with ashes piled at their feet. Will would have him believe that it's entirely _his_ fault. Blaming him is simpler than processing anything else. Hannibal understands, yes. A great deal of it _is_ his fault and yet Will had been bold enough to claim that Hannibal _could_ have had him if not for the deception. Hannibal's not so sure about that claim, but it likely makes Will feel better.

Hannibal watches Will decompress a little, the anger simmering away into a sort of numbness for Will. The gun is put away, but the threat is still there. Will knows where he lives, he knows that Hannibal would always open the door for him. There's no guarantee that Will won't pay him a visit later with the gun. Even before Will goes for his jacket, Hannibal knows this meeting is coming to a close. The realization feels bittersweet. He'd been the one to suggest that he possibly held no use for Will, but Hannibal hadn't wanted Will to go.

_'Even knowing what I want you to feel, what I want you to suffer, will you keep my standing appointment open? Did you miss me that much? Are you even **capable** of that?'_

All Hannibal can answer with is: "My door will always be open for you, Will." Simple and to the point, like much of the conversation this evening.

He has a lot to think on, and despite the ache that rises up as Will leaves, Hannibal knows his contemplation must be done in solitude.

*** * ***

When Will texts him that he's on his way, Matthew is surprised that Will's actually going through with it and coming on over. But maybe he shouldn't be. Things certainly feel friendlier between them now. The ride home from the hospital and groceries had started to pave a little friendship pathway between them. His actually dealing with Alana and bonding a little with the dogs also had mattered to Will. And when he'd stopped by and helped around the house doing weatherproofing shit, Will didn't seem hostile toward him. So, maybe they are friends. Stranger things have happened, right? (Matthew at least likes Will's company more than the assholes from work.)

Will had said he would stop by after the appointment, but Will had also told him that appointments ran at least an hour or so. Will's a little earlier than expected, even with traffic. The ‘ole appointment likely didn't go over well. Matthew's not surprised about that in the least. He answers the knock on his apartment door wearing boxers and a wife-beater. They've touched each other's dicks -- Matthew isn't concerned with being in his underwear.

He takes one look at Will and says, "You need something stronger than a beer."

Will comes in and Matthew locks the door before heading into the kitchen to grab two shot glasses and a plastic bottle of vodka.

* * *

' _My door will always be open for you, Will._ '

The words are like a brand on the back of Will's mind as he drives, the sound of slush under his tires an unpredictable comfort. His mind feels unpleasantly numb as he drives, his focus solely on the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Hannibal's words play over and over again in his head and despite how livid Will is, what he comes away with after the appointment is an unshakable sensation of loss.

Maybe it's just now settling in for him. Maybe the extent of what Hannibal has exhumed from him has finally tipped the scales. Or maybe it's as simple as the fact that Will has let himself think about Beverly, about Abigail. He's voiced their names and the crush of realization is suffocating.

He texts Matthew at a red light because he can't think of anything else to do. He doesn't necessarily want to see him, but he'd given his word. All he wants is a half a bottle of whiskey and to curl up with his dogs. He wants to sit and think and find a way to sew up the remaining pieces of his life after Hannibal's careful surgery over the past few months. Maybe running _would_ be a better idea. Maybe this gnawing need for revenge will kill him in the end. The question is: does Will even care?

He's beginning to realize that he doesn't, and the thought is somehow comforting.

It takes him longer than he'd like to find Matthew's apartment but the challenge takes his mind off of the rest of it. Hannibal is an aching question mark in his mind that sparks rage and loss in equal measures. Will doesn't want to think about him for a few seconds at least. So when he parks in the visitor parking lot, he glances at his jacket where he'd left his gun. For a brief moment he considers bringing it with him, but Matthew Brown is about as stable as Will is, and there is a small, unwelcome possessive side of him that no longer wants Hannibal's death on another's hands.

Matthew wouldn't care. Matthew _doesn't_ care. That's one of the best things about him right now. They can play at friendship - maybe on some level there is actually something there - but Matthew is using Will as much as Will is using Matthew. It's comforting to know the lay of the cards on the table. No hidden aces, no wildcards, just face-up, chips off the table. It's what he needs.

Will doesn't break his neck on the icy sidewalk leading to the apartment and when he knocks, it takes Matthew only seconds to answer the door. If Will is surprised at the state of Matthew's dress - or lack thereof (he kind of is) - he doesn't show it. Instead, he just blinks and distantly wonders if he looks as horrible as he feels.

Given the way Matthew immediately suggests hard liquor, Will is going to bet that he does.

He steps inside and toes off his shoes, leaving them in the doorway. He almost goes to take off his jacket before remembering he'd left it and his gun locked up in the car. For a moment he's not sure what to do with himself, but in the end he just steps inside and reaches down to undo the buttons at his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up. He knows he looks more put together than he did before; Matthew hasn't seen him cleaned up like this either, but Will doesn't care. Instead he follows Matthew and watches as he pours vodka. It's not Will's poison of choice, but he's not about to be fucking picky, he just takes the offered glass gratefully and nods.

"Thanks," he says, and wonders idly if his gratitude is his father's influence on him, or if it's something Hannibal had trained him into. Will downs the first shot without thinking about it any more and then steps over to Matthew's counter. Kitchens. It's always kitchens.

Will looks around it and then sets his back against the counter. He should say something about the apartment; it does look nicer than he'd expected. But instead, all that comes out is, "I put a gun to his head and almost pulled the trigger."

* * *

It's shitty vodka, but it will more than do for shots. Matthew's intention is to take the edge off and the liquor doesn't need to taste good for that. Will takes the shot with no complaint, even giving him a thanks... Matthew's eyes are narrowed a little as he takes in Will's appearance. Will, who looks like he put effort to _dress up_ and _clean up_ for Hannibal. The guy's got it bad.

Then again, he doesn't know how _he_ would be acting in Will's position. It's a shitty position to be in, that's for damn certain. It really makes you wonder about your friendly neighborhood doctor or dentist... Professionals you trusted with expensive tools to maintain you and your health. Who knew what they did in their spare time... Psychiatrist by day, serial killer by night. Cannibal at the dinner table. Doctor Hannibal Lecter. The Chesapeake Ripper. The scenario sounded like a horror movie. Did that make Will the hot chick running around in her bra and panties trying to make it to the end? It's an amusing thought.

But, no, Lecter doesn't really fit into the horror genre's villain stereotype. While Lecter is definitely fixated on the apple of his eye (Will), he isn't some disfigured hateful freak waving a chainsaw around. Now that's almost as amusing as picturing Will in lingerie.

Matthew takes his own shot with a small flinch. He briefly considers just mixing the vodka with orange juice, but whatever. They'll suffer through the aftertaste and burn together. As he's pouring them another, Will's comment comes. Interesting. He wonders if Will bought a gun or he got his piece back from work. Matthew assumes Will is going to probably go back to working for big black papa bear.

"Would have probably felt good for like five minutes, then you'd be regretting it after," Matthew says simply. He clinks shot glasses with Will as they down their second. "You shot Hobbs. I shot the Bailiff. But I think killing someone with your hands... That'd be special. Pretty sure Lecter would at least deserve _that_ much," Matthew says and fills up the shot glasses again.

* * *

Will darts a small, almost-glance at Matthew in response to his comment. He'd not been expecting to hear his own thoughts reflected back at him. Will's quiet for a moment longer, almost contemplative, and then he holds out his shot glass so that Matthew can fill up his third. While Matthew grimaces after each shot, Will doesn't. He's gotten used to the burn and bitterness over time.

"I thought about it--killing him with my hands. It'd be more fitting," Will agrees tonelessly. "Which is why I almost shot him. He'd _like_ the intimacy. Sick bastard..."

But what does that make him? Will's more than certain _he'd_ like it too at this point. And the knowledge that he's changed so much since being locked away is a bitter pill to swallow. It rivals the burn of the shots. But neither of them burn as much as the idea that this isn't anything new, that he hasn't changed at all, and instead has only been set free.

Will's lips twist in a preemptive grimace and he downs the third shot quickly, almost biting it back. He hisses through the residual burn and takes a bittersweet delight in the warmth already pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"I don't know why I brought the gun. Assurance, maybe. Maybe I just wanted to see him afraid. Not that he was. Just... just walked right over, took my wrist, and held it closer." The situation had been confusing as hell, but now that Will is actually telling Matthew what had happened, the stress and reality of what the fuck had happened is beginning to finally register. Will silently holds out the shot glass again and reaches up to rub at his face with his free hand. His shoulder aches. It's not the only thing that aches, but Will isn't going to give voice to the others.

"He told me that he was at my-- my mercy. That he wouldn't have let me rot behind bars. That he'd kill everyone. That he still would." Will lets out a rougher, mirthless laugh. "I expected him to deny it. To... to play his _fucking_ games. But no. He didn't. Part of me thinks he was being honest just so he could threaten you."

Will glances at Matthew sidelong and downs the latest shot. Drinking himself into a stupor sounds like a great fucking idea, but he's got his dogs waiting for him at home.

"I told him if anything happened to you - accidental or otherwise - he'd never see me again. He seemed to get the message. Couldn't fucking protect anyone else because I didn't know I _had_ to, but you'll be fine." Will has no loyalty to Matthew. Not really. Still, he gets what he wants out of this. Matthew wants to remain alive, and Will wants to collar Hannibal Lecter. Besides, there is a small part of Will that doesn't want Matthew to die. He hadn't been lying to Hannibal. Matthew _has_ been helping him.

* * *

' _Which is why I almost shot him. He'd like the intimacy. Sick bastard.'_

Okay, yeah, Matthew can give that to Will. Denying Lecter an intimate death would certainly piss him off. The look on his face alone would be tempting... But man, that'd be so unsatisfying for Will just to blow him away with a gun. _Bang_! Fucking lame way to go. Because then _what_? Would Will just go back to being a good little crime fighter?

Matthew has plans. He doesn't have well thought-out plans (yet), but he knows he's going to fucking kill someone again. It's an exciting realization. But he wants his next kill to _matter_. He wants it to be involved. He wants to play with Will and Lecter more and have _them_ be involved somehow. Hawks banding together and all.

So Lecter dying early would have sucked and Matthew is glad Will hadn't pulled the trigger.

When Will mentions possibly bringing the gun as assurance, Matthew rolls his eyes. Lecter wasn't going to kill Will. Lecter had put work into freeing his darling Will. Matthew doesn't get to say any of this because Will just goes on detailing what Lecter did -- apparently walking up and pulling the gun closer or whatever. Fucking showy. Matthew pours Will another shot as Will keeps talking. Blah blah, Hannibal at Will's mercy. Blah blah Lecter threatening him. Nothing really unexpected.

Will once again has apparently stepped up to be his guardian angel or some shit because he's out there _protecting_ him from Hannibal fucking Lecter by saying, 'hands off.' One of Matthew's eyebrows rises.

"I'll be fine, huh," Matthew echoes back, his lips twitching in a small smile. He had no plans on ending up dead. He pours them another shot and downs his own. "So glad that you'll keep your psycho ex away from me. Very altruistic of you. But I guess the last person that tried to help you... that didn't go too well for her." Matthew slides his shot glass away. He doubts that Will gives that much of a shit about him given that Will's so caught up in being a victim that he couldn't see what a good thing they could be.

* * *

The issue with this is that Will is used to talking to Hannibal. Scenes had slid through him like venom and Will had shuddered and repressed it all until he'd managed to stumble into Hannibal's office and together they'd made sense of it. He's coming to realize now just how isolated he is. Matthew Brown is in his corner (for how long, he wonders), but he's it. Alana thinks he's crazy and reckless (maybe he is) and Jack thinks he'd been on a fucking witch hunt. Beverly is dead. Abigail is dead. Price and Zeller aren't even in the running. Will's beginning to realize how few people he actually knows and he wonders for a moment how his life would have changed had he told Jack to go fuck himself back on the Shrike case. Would he have found Hannibal? Would he have been framed? Probably not.

He doesn't mean to just go on. He has thoughts and nowhere to put them, and after being forced silent behind bars for so long, the capacity for speech is almost overwhelming. Will rubs at his face, weary and conflicted. He's considering just getting drunk and paying Matthew for the booze later to make up for it (but that requires a job and he isn't certain he'll be working for Jack Crawford again after this). But before he can just outright ask for the bottle, Matthew speaks up.

The phrase _psycho ex_ makes Will flinch, and he remembers a third emotion he'd felt earlier very quickly-- anger. It begins to simmer inside at the very idea and Will's lips twist in a bitter grimace. He's about to tell Matthew that Hannibal isn't his ex - he's considering telling him to fuck off - but then Matthew continues, and anger splices immediately with a raw twist of hurt and _more_ anger that shocks him silent.

Will's mouth closes with a click of his teeth and for a moment he just looks at Matthew in a disbelieving silence. The words repeat in his mind: ' _But I guess the last person that tried to help you... that didn't go too well for her_.' And for a split second, Will isn't certain if he wants to get his gun, leave, or just snatch the bottle away from Matthew. He doesn't do anything of the sort, but there's a definite curl of bitterness and anger in his tone when he finds his voice again.

"No. It didn't. She got too close and he strangled her and then cut her up thin to display to all of us. To me." Will sets his shot glass down and when he rubs at his forehead again; it's almost violent. Matthew had succeeded in punching a hole in Will's shoddily-constructed dam. "He made me interpret the evidence. He made me imagine _killing her_ because he could. Because he knew I'd need to know. So no, Matthew," Will snaps, leaning away from the counter, hands flexing and wringing with energy he can't direct anywhere, "that _didn't_ go too well for her."

* * *

Not that Matthew knows a lot about friendships, but he's pretty sure Will sucks at being a friend. Or at least Will doesn't give enough of a shit to actually try. Matthew's sure as hell not _hurt_ by it, though. He assumes Will is trying to keep things uncomplicated between them, to simply think of them as two people with a shared interest using each other. He gets it. After all, that's how their arrangement had been laid out. Anyway, the last time Will had really opened himself up, Lecter had fucked him over. So, Will is distrusting and guarded. Will's also incredibly self-focused (which is a nicer way of saying selfish). In Will's mind, Hannibal Lecter is the devil and Will is his poor suffering victim. Borrrrrrrring.

But Matthew's helped Will out a few times now. Sure, Will's initial reaction had been to try and reject the help, but Matthew had been pushy enough. And... it had been kinda nice hanging out with Will and doing boring shit around his house. Will's dogs had been fun too. Matthew can see himself being okay with becoming actual friends with Will. But this could have an expiration date as there's no guarantee Will is going to want him around a month or two months down the road.

_'He made me interpret the evidence. He made me imagine killing her because he could. Because he knew I'd need to know.'_

Matthew gives Will an unimpressed look. He knew bringing up the Asian woman would rile Will up, but he hadn't known to what degree. "Hey, technically, Crawford brought you there," Matthew points out, playing Devil's advocate. After all, he'd been along for that ride. Matthew wonders if Will even remembered him, if he had noticed him doing up the straps. Probably not. Will hadn't been interested in anyone around him unless they could be of use to him. Until Matthew had spoken up, he'd been a faceless orderly. Oh, Matthew isn't upset by that. He's spent most of his life being looked over. There'd always been someone who was smarter or hotter than him.. Nicer than him. More normal than him. Helped him to blend in, though, so whatever.

"You going to keep dressing up for him?"

* * *

Will closes his eyes. The spark of anger that ignites in his chest is sudden and volatile and it takes honest effort to breathe through it. Matthew isn't wrong. Physically, Jack had been the one to take him to the crime scene, but that isn't the point. The point is simple: Hannibal could have displayed Beverly in silence. He could have taken her away or simply made her disappear, but he hadn't. He'd displayed her because he had wanted Will to see the effects of his choice. He'd wanted Will to see that his actions had consequences, that it didn't matter _who_ was on Will's side, they'd all be pawns in the end. He'd given Will a very pointed message then and Will had been able to feel it down into his bones: Will had been the one to kill Beverly in the end, because she'd placed her trust in him.

"Don't," is all Will manages, because he's fairly certain that any other answer will result in breaking something or lashing out and he doesn't want to do either of those things. Will can't afford to make any more enemies, and Matthew - while impulsive and stubborn - has actually been helpful. So he makes himself withstand his irritation. He's already reaching for the shot glass again when Matthew makes his final comment.

It's enough to make Will go still. He has a second to look down at himself, to take in the dress shirt and slacks that he never would have worn, and suddenly he's _very_ aware of how he looks. Embarrassment and anger curl inside and he kicks off forcefully from the counter.

"Fuck off." He says it before he's made the decision to, then decides that he doesn't care. "He uses clothes like armor. I wasn't going to face him without some of my own. I wanted _his_ guard down. I wanted _him_ uncertain." Anger is a volatile thing, and Will can feel it burning. He knows then that he's either going to do something stupid, or he needs to redirect it. So instead of staying still, he starts to pace, quick, angry steps, his spine rigid. In his rage, he almost walks like Hannibal.

"Why do you care?"

* * *

Yeah, it's probably not the best idea to egg Will on, but hey, sometimes Matthew can't help but be a bit of a shit-disturber. He's been pretty damn good to Will anyway. Better than Will has been to him at any rate (not that that's saying much). He knows he's being a little antagonistic with pointing out technicalities about the crime scene thing, but Matthew isn't going to change himself. Certainly not for Will, not for anyone. He's also not here to let Will go on and about his misery and get theatrical. Matthew watches Will try and hold himself in check. He doesn't know if he should count himself lucky that Will is trying a little bit to apparently _not_ burn this bridge. (It's means more than Matthew is willing to admit. It shows that Will gives a shit about him to some extent.)

 It's the comment about _dressing up_ that seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Sure, Will looks good. Even Matthew can admit it. Will looks sharper, and while Matthew doesn't know about clothing-as-armor, he can respect Will wanting to throw off Hannibal. But now Will is pissed off and shaken up. Flustered. That's the perfect word for it. Matthew scrutinizes him as Will sets off in a haughty walk, pacing about.

 _'Why do you care?'_ And with that question directed his way, Matthew takes action. He steps in front of Will to stop him in his tracks and decides to just go for it. He's going to do what he think will both shut up and shock Will. Matthew's hand shoots out to grab at the back of Will's head, his fingers clenching in styled hair tightly. His other hand grips Will's uninjured shoulder. He quickly backs Will against the counter with his body and he leans in, kissing Will roughly. It's nothing magical and it's nothing romantic. It's a bruising pressure and then Matthew nips at Will's bottom lip as Will struggles against it.

And then it's over and Matthew pulls away. As far as kissing a dude went, it isn't bad. "Hey, I'm in your corner." Matthew reminds him, but he doesn't allow Will to get away. "You need an outlet, man. You want me to fuck you up or..." He gives Will an appraising look. "Do you wanna fuck me up?" Matthew has a few ideas on his mind.

* * *

Will isn't expecting anything like what Matthew winds up doing. His mind is immediately swirling around the memory of Hannibal and his words and what he'd almost done. He can feel the weight of the gun in his hand now as he paces and it feels wrong. It's not _enough_ for a man like Hannibal. Will has rarely entertained the idea himself before; he's been in the minds of killers. He's felt their rage and their delight over ending life. But barring Hobbs, barring how much Will had _liked_ killing him, he's never let himself imagine anything else of the sort. Until now. Until Hannibal. Until he'd had a gun to Hannibal's head and suddenly realized shooting him wouldn't be satisfying. Not where it counted.

He's in his own thoughts, pacing angrily, his breathing a little quicker, his steps rougher. He doesn't give much thought to Matthew, his mind on Hannibal and his goddamn armor and words. Then suddenly there's something in front of him. Will tenses and he's already lifting his arms (whether to protect himself or lash out, not even he knows) and then a hand clenches in his hair and another grabs his good shoulder. He makes a small sound and shoves out, jabbing his arm clumsily against Matthew's chest, but it's his bad arm and it isn't effective.

His back hits the counter and Will's halfway through spitting out: "what the fuck are you _doing?_ " when the rest of the question is silenced by a sudden rough press of lips. It's a rush of violence, of insistent lips, and the rough scratch of stubble against his skin. It's nothing he's experienced before. It's _much_ different from kissing a woman, but somehow it seems all the more fitting. He fights. He pushes. He's pissed that Matthew would _dare._ But he can't deny that the flood of violence is like draining the poison from a wound. Matthew kisses him roughly. It's uncomfortable. He shoves Will back, using force, and the knowledge that Matthew is actually strong is worrying. It sends a frisson of anxiety through him that melds with the anger until Will shudders and gives in, surging up into the kiss to meet the violence head on.

Matthew pulls back too quickly, but given the way Will is breathing harder and decidedly off-balance, it's likely a good thing. Will's awkwardly pressed back to the counter, supporting himself more on his bad arm than anything. Breathing harder, somewhat stunned, he looks up at Matthew for all of a few seconds before struggling to right himself. The anger is still there, still burning, but the lingering burn to his chin and lips is almost helpful. It doesn't stop him from shoving at Matthew, but he remains solid, pressing back to keep Will pinned, which suddenly seems perfect.

The reminder that Matthew is in his corner makes him want to scoff, but Will's not so far gone that he can't acknowledge it. Logically he knows that Matthew had been attempting to shock him, to give him an outlet. But he still resents being caught off guard like that. More than that, this has reminded him that he's actually _not_ as strong as Matthew is. Will draws in a deeper breath, holds it, and then lets it out. It does nothing for his anger.

"I don't know," he finally grinds out after a long few seconds of almost uncomfortable silence. He doesn't know what he wants. The appointment has left him shaken and violent and he wants to struggle as much as he wants to lash out. He also doesn't miss the thoughtful look Matthew sends him. "Neither. Both." Will lifts a hand to rub at his face, and the burn against his chin feels good, but...

"You... I want to fuck you up."

* * *

Will knows he's stronger, but he still predictably tries to fight him off -- it's all instincts initially and Matthew's not offended. But Will does give in and kiss him back. It's no fucking victory or achievement. The achievement is what's going to happen _next_.

When he'd thought about fucking around with Will, Matthew hadn't planned on any kissing business. Kissing feels intimate. Or at least it could be. Kissing doesn't always mean romance, sometimes it's just swapping spit and sucking on lips or biting, but it feels more personal than just jerking each other off had. Somehow. Then again, they hadn't been that close giving each other a handjob in Will's cell. This is the closest they've been since Matthew gave Will some nice hickies to show off.

Matthew would rather fuck Will up. Push him around. Pull his hair. Bite him. Yank at his clothes, hear how he sounds in the midst of sexual violence... But there's an odd appeal to _allowing_ Will to do the same to him. He's curious what Will will do. He's interested in seeing Will be rough-- in Will being dominant and taking out some aggression. He can handle it. He _wants_ to handle it. Matthew thinks Lecter wouldn't have given Will the choice.

But Matthew isn't Hannibal Lecter. Matthew wants Will to go over both options in his head, to understand what he's _offering_. For Will to make up his own goddamn mind about it.

' _Neither. Both.'_ Matthew grins at the answer. It's probably the first thing Will's said all night that hasn't irritated him. When Will makes his decision, Matthew nods his understanding.

"Alright, alright," Matthew replies, giving Will an assessing look as he tugs on Will's hair once before letting it go. "You know I can overpower you if I need to, so don't worry about hurting me," Matthew explains with a smirk. His hand comes to rub once over Will's dick through his pants. "But do try and make it fun. I'm not looking for some testosterone fueled wrestling match." With that stated, Matthew takes a step back, curious to what Will is going to do. They should probably go to his bedroom, but they could make their way there...

* * *

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Will almost regrets them. His first instinct is that this isn't _him_ , but the one that quickly follows wonders if maybe this is him _now_. How much has Hannibal knocked loose? How much has he changed? When Hannibal had crashed into Will's life and brought him to ruin, what shape had Will's rubble taken?

He feels shaken as he gives his answer, but the anger pounding within is telling. He can feel it in his pulse and he can feel it flare at Matthew's grin. In the back of Will's mind, he almost feels relieved that Matthew is pushing him, that he's giving his permission. It make sense. Matthew wants a hawk, someone like him, and right now Will isn't sure how different they really are. He can feel the tight clench of Matthew's fingers in his hair, messing it up the way he wants, and Will almost changes his answer. Almost. The idea of letting Matthew push him does appeal until he thinks about it, and the reaction is almost visceral. Will isn't about to let someone else take charge. Not now. Not after Hannibal.

The realization (as well as the realization that Matthew is giving him a choice) makes him feel almost humbled. Will listens, and while his pulse does skip at the reminder that Matthew is stronger than he is (can _overpower_ him, Christ, of course he'd say it like that) it's also oddly appealing. As is the way Matthew blatantly touches him. Will's breath catches; his slacks are thin, and even if he's not hard yet, it's sensitive.

Matthew steps back and Will looks at him. He wets his lips and feels the way his chin burns after Matthew's stubble had rubbed it raw. He wonders suddenly if Matthew can feel the same thing after kissing him. And while the thought of kissing him again seems uncomfortably intimate, it's hard to ignore. He doesn't have any plans on what to do. Not at first. Then he just pushes away from the counter and looks Matthew over once.

"No, that wouldn't appeal to you. You know you're stronger than I am. You don't get off on that," Will mutters. In a way he hates that he knows it but he can't turn his empathy off. "You want someone who'll indulge you. A... partner but a counterpoint. Otherwise it'd be boring."

Which means unpredictability. Luckily for the both of them, Will has that in surplus and just enough alcohol in his system to make him careless. So when he suddenly darts forward to fist his hands in Matthew's undershirt, he throws his weight into it. Maybe he's not stronger than Matthew, but he has momentum and training on his side. it results in a sudden trip and stumble, and Will carries through until Matthew's back meets the far wall, probably harder than intended. That he doesn't _need_ to cushion the landing is thrilling. Before he's made the choice to do so, he leans in again and catches Matthew's lips in a kiss, if it can even be called that. It's biting and rough, something intended to leave marks behind instead of seduce. There's no emotion behind it except anger but it's a perfect outlet, especially when Will bites and considers biting hard enough to bleed.

* * *

Matthew's never been content with softness. He's never needed or wanted whispered, sweet sentiments. While he can appreciate how a gentle touch can be teasing and drive him up the wall, he's never tolerated it for very long. Matthew likes it rough and passionate. He likes nails scraping down his back. He enjoys a girl with spirit who will bite him back or even slap him. Fucking, sex, lovemaking - whatever people called it - he wants to feel the burn in his muscles from exertion and he wants it primal. Animalistic. Fun.

Because normal everyday sex is boring. He wants the chick up against the wall clinging onto him with her legs. He wants to eat her out slowly until she's cursing his name. He wants skin slapping on skin and the sounds of their pleasure to wake up his neighbors. Matthew wants to stuff her panties into her mouth as a makeshift gag. He wants to fuck her face until she's a mess. He wants her to spit his come back at him because why not? If she wants to get freaky and piss on him, that's good too. He likes the thrill, the excitement...

But Will isn't a woman. No tits. No pussy. No curves. But Will is interesting enough for Matthew to think that they could have fun anyway. Dangly bits, body hair, a lower voice... Doesn't really matter. Not in this. Not when Will can apparently read him and understand him.

That matters. A partner, but a counterpoint. It's a good summary.

Will proves his worth when he's suddenly barreling into Matthew and Matthew collides into the far wall with a thud. It hurts, of course, but it's nothing serious (Matthew knows serious. Matthew knows how it feels to get the shit kicked out of him.) When Will goes in for a kiss, Matthew gives back as good as Will gives, mouth hungry and forceful. This is exciting. He groans when teeth find his lip and Matthew's hands grab onto Will's forearms dragging him closer. Matthew grinds into Will with purpose, his eyes wide and arousal starting to make its appearance.

* * *

This isn't how Will approaches sex. He doesn't _do_ this. He's rarely the aggressor, and when he is, it's only when he senses a mutual interest. It's why he'd kissed Alana; she _had_ liked him despite her hesitation, and yet she hadn't wanted to cross paths with his instability. Will is no stranger to wanting, but he's not used to pursuing. He waits for another to show interest and often times their enjoyment sparks his own. He's reactive. He's not assertive.

But Matthew is. Will can see it so fucking clearly now that he's looking, now that he can sense the way Matthew jerkily moves back as he's shoved, like he's not used to allowing this. He's off balance because of Will.

Will likes it. When Matthew's back hits the wall, he does feel a slight edge of regret; the sound is loud and he immediately wonders if he's going too far with this, but there's no eclipsing his satisfaction. If the way Matthew immediately responds is any indication, the feeling is mutual, and Will just reminds himself of what Matthew had said. He's strong enough to shove Will away and turn the tides if he goes too far. As his teeth close over Matthew's lower lip and rake over stubble that still feels _weird_ when he's used to the softness of a woman's lips, he guiltily wonders just how far _is_ 'too far'?

Then it's difficult to think of much of anything. He swallows Matthew's groan and keeps his hands fisted in Matthew's shirt, and Will presses him back hard against the wall. His socks slip a little on the floor and Will suddenly regrets removing his shoes, but it's hard to care. Not when Matthew kisses him back hard enough to hurt. Not when Will can feel the burn of stubble against his chin and against his lips and he knows for certain that he'll be able to see the marks later. He shivers, his pulse picking up, and when Matthew drags him in closer to grind against him, Will bites out a rough curse against his lips and kicks at one of his legs to force them to spread. He fits his thigh in close and grinds back.

It occurs to him as he kisses Matthew, as the burn rakes over his own face, that Matthew still has to work later. If Will leaves marks, people will know. Normally he'd have been careful but he doesn't _feel_ careful right now. Instead he's riding on a high of anger and the outlet Matthew's offered him. Arousal sparks hot and Will groans roughly the moment before he just gives in and bites Matthew's lower lip, hard. He wrenches one of his arms free (with difficulty; Matthew _is_ strong) and when Will reaches up, it's to grip his fingers in Matthew's hair and yank. It's difficult; his hair is shorter, and this isn't what Will is used to, but that doesn't mean he doesn't like it. He does. A lot.

* * *

It's much different _allowing_ this to occur. Will's obviously stronger than any of the women Matthew's been with. There is a risk that he could actually get hurt... but doesn't that just add to the fun? Why shouldn't this be risky? After all, he's playing with fellow killers. Will Graham is essentially Hannibal Lecter's boy-toy. Well, not exactly. Man-toy? Will may be pretty, but he's definitely a man.

It's felt in the trimmed stubble scratching against Matthew's lower face. It's felt in the hands holding him securely and the distinctly masculine body pressing him against the wall. It's felt in the thigh spreading his legs open and meeting the grinding action. They're both starting to get hard. All in all, it's not too bad. It's different - noticeably different - but not bad. Matthew could likely get used to the differences.

Matthew isn't worried about the beard burn because he's never had to think about it in relation to _his_ face getting chaffed. But he isn't worried about any other possible marks either. He's never been shy about hickies or even bruises. It's other people's problems if they are bothered by the appearance of such things. Proprietary or whatever bullshit. When Will bites his bottom lip, Matthew hisses in pain. His grip on Will's arms slackens a bit from the distraction and then one of Will's hand is in his shorter hair and gripping hard. This isn't bad either and he arcs deliberately into Will's body. Matthew laughs lightly as he's pulling away from the kiss, lips swollen.

"Remember when you said you were straight?"

* * *

It's amazing how different this is in just over a few weeks. At the BSHCI, Will hadn't really been into the idea of touching another man. He'd felt no real desire with Matthew's dick in his hand aside from the small thrill of doing something sexual in general. Matthew's desire had sparked his own more than anything, plus the thought of angering Hannibal. It strikes him then that he hadn't actually _told_ Hannibal what he'd done. Not in detail. Now the thought of doing so makes him want to turn back around and drive back to Hannibal's office as much as it makes him want to sweep it under the rug. He's here though, with Matthew, kissing his lips raw and feeling the answering burn against his chin as he yanks at his hair and shoves him back.

In the BSHCI he'd been less than enthusiastic, and maybe there's a part of that remaining. Matthew doesn't have curves. He's not soft and gentle. He doesn't smell of spices or vanilla or flowers. He's attractive in an aesthetic sense. Will knows that were he a woman, he'd likely understand the appeal. But ultimately Matthew is still a man and Will is still straight.

Or... he's going to assume he is. Because as he shoves Matthew back and grinds against him, as he yanks Matthew's head back by his hair and does what he can to ignore the laugh in favor of sending his throat a thoughtful look, Will has to admit that he's definitely getting hard. This is stress relief. This is an outlet for his anger. This is exactly what he needs. Matthew's hiss had sent a spark of arousal straight through him, and Will doesn't want to look too deeply into that. He's already considering what to do when Matthew's comment strikes him.

Will knows the tone is baiting. He can hear it. He knows _exactly_ what Matthew is doing and yet the anger still spikes. He honestly doesn't care if he's not straight, but Matthew's laughter and jeering just grates on his nerves. Will yanks his head back harder, holding himself back less.

"Shut up," he snaps back. "You're as hard as I am." He can feel it. Which means Matthew is into this too, even if it's in a different way. Will wrenches his other hand away now that he can and he hesitates for only a moment before reaching down. He shifts his thigh just enough to trap his hand between it and he cups his hand semi-rough over Matthew's dick, rubbing pointedly.

* * *

Matthew's never really paid any interest sexually to the male gender before. In gym class he couldn't be bothered to care about comparing dick sizes or whatever. He may be grinding against Will, he may have kissed him first, but Matthew doesn't feel like _this_ should be some sexual identity crisis. What he does, who he messes around with... What does it really matter? It doesn't change _who_ he is. Some people's sexual orientation seemed to matter to them, but he's not one of them. Maybe he's bisexual now, maybe he's not. Since first fooling around with Will, Matthew hasn't looked at any other dudes differently. Women are who he's attracted to still, but no woman is Will Graham.

Will is special. His fellow hawk. Or hawk-in-training.

But between the two of them Will had been the one to assert he was straight. Matthew doesn't really care either way. He hadn't then and he doesn't now. He's not forcing Will into anything. He's not a fucking rapist. After all, he's straight too, at least until Will showed up. He can't help but jump in and want to have a swim with these sharks.

So here he is now, jumping into the deeper, somewhat unchartered waters. Will's hand is in his hair pulling. He's allowing Will to be rough, but still Matthew isn't going to be a bitch and just roll over and take it. He gives his comment to rile Will up and it hits the mark beautifully. Will yanks his head back harder and Will gets more sure (or bothered enough) that his other hand gets between them. Will's touch is firm against his dick. He's wearing less clothes than Will so his growing arousal is more evident.

Matthew's not ashamed in the least. He licks at his bottom lip, sore from Will's sudden bite. "Yeah, 'course I am," Matthew says, less of a taunt heard in his voice now. It's sexual attention. It's violence. It's Will fighting back. There's a few different reasons why he's aroused. "But I don't really care what I am. I just think you're hot like this. All pissed off. Hot and bothered..." Matthew blatantly pushes into Will's hand, his breath stuttering a moment.

"Did seeing Hannibal Lecter get you hot and bothered Will? You pulled a gun on him... But I think you now know of better ways to get under his skin."

Matthew has a few good ideas too.

* * *

Will is expecting resistance. He's expecting violence and for Matthew to fight back. Maybe a part of him is expecting Matthew to get fed up with his attempt and to shove him away or flip things around on him. So when none of it happens - when Matthew's immediate response is to agree with him - Will almost falters. It strikes him then in an abstract way that he's got his hand on a guy's dick again. It's clothed - still strange, still just a dick - but there's more to the situation now. This isn't just Will attempting to get even with Hannibal, to hurt him (though that definitely plays a part). This isn't just him conveniently using the closest person and being used in return.

He doesn't want to dwell on it right now though because it's easier to just bite, to just pull and shove, Matthew hasn't just been helpful in dealing with Hannibal. He'd helped in the store, had driven him home, has been helping Will glue together the pieces of his shattered life. Ultimately, despite how dangerous Matthew Brown is, he has been an ally. So when Will snaps at him, a part of him is expecting resistance but he's not that surprised when he doesn't get it. Instead Matthew agrees with him, his voice smoother, more distracted. Will feels the outline of his cock against his hand and he's pretty sure he knows why.

Still, he's not expecting Matthew to call him _hot_. Will does falter this time, shooting Matthew a small confused frown. But before he can ask more, Matthew is arching against him, his breath catching, and Will definitely feels an empathetic twist of arousal. It doesn't calm his anger at the situation. And, as Matthew is so quick to point out, it doesn't calm his anger at _Hannibal_ , but it's noteworthy. He'll look into it.

Later. He'll look into it later. Right now Matthew is mentioning Hannibal and Will can't help but think back to the appointment. He pushes harder, grinding himself against Matthew's thigh, and he closes his eyes tight as if to shove away the implication, but there's no helping it. Matthew's implication - that seeing Hannibal had put him into this state - sends a twist of heat and anger through him. He's right. Fucked up as it is, he's right. And now that Will has his hand on Matthew's dick, now that there's heat and arousal and the scent of sex, he's reminded of Matthew's attention in the BSHCI. More than that, he's reminded of what Matthew had _said_.

"Fuck. Yeah, I do," Will hisses back.

He doesn't want to kill Hannibal. He'll fantasize about it, but Hannibal dead gives him nothing. Hannibal _enraged_ and denied gives him what he wants. Will remembers Matthew's alternative and even if it had been said in the heat of arousal, what makes now any different?

"So do you. You want to fuck me." It's hard to forget. The thought still feels alarming but the idea of denying Hannibal still appeals. Will swallows and then he suddenly slides his hand up. Matthew's only wearing boxers so it's simple enough to reach in, and Will quickly wraps a hand around him, stroking steadily. It's still just a dick, but Will tracks what he hadn't been able to before: the slight twitches, the shivers, the hitched breaths.

"You want to show him _you_ can have what he can't. You and me, right?" He leans in and, after a second of consideration, he presses his lips where Matthew's neck meets his shoulder and he bites.

* * *

Oh, Matthew knows he could push Will off. Will may have some basic training, but Will's still weaker. Matthew's also younger than Will, and if this goes south in any way he's not helpless. He won't hesitate to fight back. He's not about to let Will take advantage of him (such a thought _is_ a little entertaining actually). Would Will even try something? Matthew doesn't think so. Will's not the type and Matthew's only the type if his partner is consenting (hey, who was he to judge if a chick had a certain fantasy or two?).

Their partnership may have started with Lecter being their common ground, but right now, pushed against his wall and with the taste of Will in his mouth, Matthew is less concerned about games and the bigger picture. This is fun and he's enjoying himself. Seeing Will cut loose is a treat.

At his expressed sentiments, Will gives him a confused, slightly disgruntled look. Matthew's shoulder lifts in an unrepentant shrug. He has no problem calling it like he sees it. Seeing Doc Lecter _had_ got Will all hot and bothered. Now he gets to reap the benefits. On top of that Matthew's certain he's helping Will too. It's symbiotic or some shit. He's giving Will an outlet for some aggression.

Killing Lecter would be a short lived, feel-good moment. But playing with him... Yeah, playing with him would be more fun in the long run. Matthew doesn't think it's a sustainable course of action, but it works for now. It works for them. And, well, he doesn't mind sharing. He's nice like that. (He probably shouldn't be excited about that prospect, but Matthew thinks that could be some real fun...)

 _'You want to fuck me'_ ... And isn't that rather nice to hear again? (And he does. Matthew wants to fuck Will. He wants to feel Will from the inside and make Will feel every fucking one of his thrusts. He wants to hear Will take it--)

Will slips his hand into Matthew's boxers. Last time Matthew had to prompt Will to touch him. But he doesn't need to this time. This time Will just wraps his hand around his dick like it's no big deal. Matthew shudders, a satisfied groan slipping out. Will isn't a tease with his stroking, he goes for it -- hand tight and firm. Will's words appeal - ' _you want to show him you can have what he can't. You and me, right?_ ' - but Matthew has an inkling that Hannibal will find a way to break down Will's barriers. In time…

Matthew shivers as he feels Will's stubble along his neck. There's no warning given (or needed) before Will just bites him.

"Fuck," Matthew curses at the flare of pain. His hips jerk up into Will's hand (not so strange) and Matthew's head falls against the wall.

"Yeah, that's good, Will," Matthew comments, his voice gruff. It sounds kinda like praise but he doesn't care. "Make me a mess. Fuck me up -- do whatever you want." Matthew's hand finds Will's hair and grasps. "You look good. I'm sure... I'm sure he liked it."

* * *

Will doesn't think about biting Matthew for long enough to truly decide whether or not it's a good idea, but in the spur of the moment it feels justified. His neck is still littered with a faded necklace of bruises from Matthew's teeth, and his hip still aches sometimes with the bite pressed to it. Sure the marks are older, but the one on his hip had been really fucking deep. It hadn't been deep enough to draw blood, but Will can still feel the sting if he moves suddenly. So now, pressing Matthew back against the wall, his neck seems a perfect target. He's already in this. Matthew's cock is already thick and hard in his hand, and Will's already made the decision to do this. Might as well go all-in.

Besides, there's something satisfying in having another body react. He can feel the shiver against his skin just as easily as he can hear the groan Matthew lets out when Will starts to jerk him off. Yeah, it's dry and it isn't that gentle, but Matthew can always shove him off and go track down something relatively slick. Even a bachelor has to have something in the kitchen, though Will doesn't doubt that there's lube around here somewhere. He also doesn't care enough to ask about it. Matthew seems fine like this if the way his hips jerking up is any indication. Will can feel the thrum of his pulse against his lips and Matthew's curse rings pleasantly in his ears.

He has no fucking idea what he's doing in the long run here, but with alcohol warm in his system and a low, comfortable level of violence in each touch and bite, he can't say that he's not enjoying it. Matthew is still a man. It's still weird. Will doesn't care. Instead he shivers at the note of gruff praise and bites hard enough that it'll definitely leave a mark for a few days. And, on a whim, Will suddenly releases Matthew's cock. He shoves him back harder as he reaches down and shoves at Matthew's boxers, wrenching them down low enough so that he doesn't have to strain his wrist to reach. When he wraps his hand around Matthew's dick again, there's no hesitation in the way he strokes, quick and firm, his thumb sliding over the head on random strokes.

It's Will's turn to bite out a groan when Matthew's fingers tangle in his hair though. It's sudden and sharp and the pain of it prickles pleasantly all the way down Will's back. He fights the grip, leaning away from it, and he doesn't know what it says about him that he likes it.

"I didn't do it for him," Will bites back, his voice half-muffled against Matthew's skin. He wonders for a moment whether or not it's the truth and then shoves it aside. "I did it for myself." He thinks back to Hannibal's office, to the way Hannibal had stood and called his bluff, to the way he'd put the gun to his head. Will recalls the way Hannibal had wet his lips, almost as if nervous, and he speaks before he thinks. "I want your mouth. Think you can handle that?"

* * *

Matthew would rather bite. Matthew would rather be the instigator, but he can appreciate Will taking on this role. He doubts Will gets to be rough or even has much sex to begin with (Will had said as much before). So he'll let himself end up with a nasty bite and he'll let Will fuck him up -- as long as it's been invited. Matthew has the distinct impression that he would not like this at all if he wasn't in a more giving, gracious mood.

Will's hand isn't gentle, but that's okay. His mouth isn't gentle either, and Matthew's kinda curious how the mark will look afterwards. Matthew isn't expecting Will to take it another step further, but maybe he should. Will's proving himself tonight. Will proves he's in this again when he pushes Matthew back and then is jerking his boxers down lower, allowing him more room. It works for Matthew, he's left shaking a little as Will relentlessly continues, thumb swiping over his tip and collecting a little pre-come for good measure.

Matthew isn't going to argue with Will about his reasons for playing dress-up. While Matthew can appreciate the polish, he'd never _expect_ Will to dress up for _him_. Will can continue to be a shabby but comfortably dressed hermit for all he cares. Clothes are clothes.

_'I want your mouth. Think you can handle that?'_

That.

That has Matthew pushing Will away a little. He gives him a considering look, his eyes flicking down to Will's crotch. Matthew's never exactly _wanted_ a dick in his mouth before, but there's a challenge in Will's question and voice that interests Matthew. And if he sucks Will, there's a better chance of getting a blowjob in return. Tit for tat.

(Or maybe Matthew just doesn't want to chicken out. He's the one that suggested messing around, he's not going to be the one to get his panties up in a twist over proposed activities.)

It's manageable. He'll do it.

"'Kay, but not out in my fucking kitchen," Matthew answers and he straightens up. He lets go of Will and Will backs up. Matthew steps out of his boxers and leaves them on the floor. He'll collect them later. Figuring how he's almost undressed as it is, Matthew pulls off his wife-beater and drops it as well.

It's now Will who's completely dressed and the odd one out. "Let's go," Matthew smirks and leads the way to his room, completely naked and at ease. He knows he looks good.

* * *

As soon as the words are out, Will wonders if he's gone too far. Then he wonders if he even cares. Hadn't Matthew invited him to push? Isn't this what Matthew had let him do? He hesitates for a fraction of a second before continuing because if he's gone too far, Matthew can always push him away. Will knows muscles aren't really an indication of skill but they _are_ an indication of strength, and Matthew is strong. Will can see the hint of his musculature past his shirt and his legs that are toned. Given the fact Will's spent so much time locked away, were it to come down to a fight, he knows he wouldn't be winning by strength.

So when Matthew _does_ suddenly push him away - one hand in Will's hair, the other suddenly on his chest - Will struggles against it for a quick second (testing, testing) before he relents. He's expecting something negative, expecting a scoff or a harder shove. What he's not expecting is the thoughtful look Matthew sends him. Will stills, breathing a little harder, and his gaze darts to the reddened patch of skin left on Matthew's neck from his bite (and suck; he can see the red blossom of a hickey there and he feels mildly accomplished). He likes it. A small shiver runs through him, one that only gains speed when he realizes that Matthew is looking down at his clothed dick. He's hard now. Just the thought...

He's going to tell himself it was entirely the thought of Matthew's lips around his cock that did it, not anything else.

Despite the challenge in his voice (manipulative, Will reminds himself; he knows how Matthew's mind works) he's not actually expecting Matthew to _agree_. So when he does, Will can't disguise the immediate blink of bemused surprise, and the way his cock throbs in his slacks is pretty obvious. Matthew lets him go then and Will backs away without thinking. He'll later argue that it's common courtesy: you don't argue with the person who's just agreed to oral sex. But before he can say anything else - though he does open his mouth to do so - Will goes quiet again.

Matthew has tattoos.

Will _knows_ he does because he can suddenly _see_ them, because as he watches, Matthew just up and slips the rest of his clothes off. It's still a male body and Will's still not sure what to make of it sexually, but Matthew does look good. He's long and lean but _very_ well muscled. As he turns away, there's no denying that he's got quite a few things going for him, not the least of which is the clear confidence he has being naked. Will is staring. He knows he is, but Matthew doesn't seem to mind. Will's pretty damn sure he's soaking up the attention. So when Matthew instructs him to follow and then leads the way out of the kitchen, Will follows all the way to what he guesses is Matthew's bedroom.

It's modest. There's probably more to say about it, but Will's attention isn't on the room as much as it is on Matthew, on his tattoos. Maybe he's straight, but he can appreciate the effort Matthew puts into his appearance and the chaotic designs all over his skin tell Will so much about him that it's practically a fucking book inscribed on his skin. Will swallows and steps past him, making no secret out of the appreciative look he sends Matthew on the way by.

"You put a lot of work into yourself," he comments as he sits on the bed. The light in the room is off, but Will can see just enough to matter. He hesitates a moment and then reaches down to his belt, undoing it without much thought to what his clothing probably deserves. It's just clothing. "Most people would hate to need to cover up for work, but you don't mind it. It's your secret. And it makes the reveal that much more satisfying for you. You like surprising people. You surprised me. You look good," Will adds, because he can't just ignore the obvious. As he speaks, he undoes his belt and his slacks, then works the slacks and his boxers down, kicking them off carelessly.

* * *

Matthew works out. He gets his hair cut regularly. He keeps his facial hair trimmed and neat. He grooms. Manscapes. Whatever. He likes to look good. He may not have a flashy car, a great job, or own his own home, but at least he has a nice body. His body is his temple, after all. So his lips pull into a pleased grin at Will's apparent staring. Will likes what he sees on some level and Matthew likes that.

His place is a bit messy, but it's not gross. He's been to some other dude's places, and they were plain nasty. Matthew knows how to take care of a place, thank you very much. _His_ place doesn't have bugs or smell funky. He cleans it (not enough, but at least once or twice a month he's damn thorough and gets the bleach out). On the way to his bedroom, they walk past the washroom. There's really no decor or anything hung up on his walls. Matthew has no need to make his apartment homey. It has what he needs: a kitchen, bed, bathroom, laundry stuff, place for a couch, tv, decent stereo. He's not picky. Matthew leads the way. His room is fairly sparse and contains a queen size bed, dresser, closet, bedside table that has a lamp, box of condoms, Kleenex and lube on it. Matthew can tell that Will is still kinda checking him out, maybe it's the tattoos. He doesn't mind. If (when) Will gets naked, Matthew plans on looking over him too. It's like inspecting the merchandise.

Will walks past him and the "read" that Will gives has Matthew's eyes narrowing. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop because, as it stands, it sounds like Will is being _nice_.

And it's a little weird.

It's not Will challenging him or sucking up to him. Matthew's already agreed to the blowjob anyway.

Will's also right, too. Hit the nail right on the head. What else does Will know? He'll have to find out...

"You're an interesting man, Mr. Graham," Matthew murmurs, sauntering over to him and sitting next to Will. Matthew helps himself to Will's shirt, unbuttoning each button. "Never sucked a guy off, but I think it could be fun." He parts Will's shirt, looking at his handiwork left on along his clavicle. Matthew pulls Will's shirt off before he's up on his knees and pushing Will to lie back.

Naked, Will lies before him. Matthew runs his nails down from the bruises on his chest to the one on Will's hip, but he's not too rough. He remembers Will hadn't elected for that.

"If you're feeling adventurous, you could suck me off at the same time, but no pressure. Just let me know." He gives an easy going smirk to Will. Matthew's done 69’s with chicks before. He assumes this would be fun, too. He lies down next to Will, propping himself up by Will's knees and careful to not kick Will in the head (would be amusing, but not for a first time). Matthew wraps his hand around the base of Will's dick, wets his lips and with no further fanfare, opens his mouth and takes in the tip. He licks and sucks at the head of Will's cock enthusiastically. Matthew has pride in this sort of thing. He'll learn to be good.

* * *

It strikes Will as Matthew comes to sit beside him that he's really fucking doing this. Will watches him walk over, distantly aware that the way Matthew is moving is essentially a male version of swaying his hips. He's aware of it because it looks... appealing. Kind of. Matthew is still a man, but Will is finding that at this moment he isn't picky. He's asked for a mouth on his dick and Matthew has seen fit to oblige him; he's not about to complain. And the knowledge definitely adds a sexual filter to everything that follows.

"For the record," Will cuts in as Matthew settles beside him and reaches out to start unbuttoning his shirt, "you're the man who's helping me fuck over the Chesapeake Ripper. I'm not the only interesting one." He watches as Matthew unbuttons his shirt and he helps him when it's pulled off. The bullet wound on his shoulder is still red with fresh scar tissue, but the bandages are off now. Will glances at the scar for a moment, almost thoughtful, and then suddenly Matthew's hands are on his chest and he doesn't care anymore.

Will lays back when prompted, and when Matthew's nails run from the dip of his clavicle all the way down to his hip, he shudders and arches into it. It's a taste; Will knows precisely what Matthew is doing with it, and it's smart. It's a hint of what he could have if there's a next time, and if he picks the other option. The curious thing is that Will thinks it actually appeals. He's considering it, what that might look like, when Matthew's voice suddenly cuts in again.

_'If you're feeling adventurous, you could suck me off at the same time, but no pressure. Just let me know.'_

Will immediately glances at Matthew's dick. It's apparently a bred-in-response to thinking about sucking cock. He remembers Matthew had done the same thing when Will had made his suggestion in the kitchen. Matthew is quick to lay down beside him, though Will doesn't miss the _direction_ that Matthew lays down in. It's another hint, and one that drives the point home. He's not sure he's feeling adventurous. The option is there, though. Matthew's dick is close enough that he _could_... but does he want to? "Sounds tempting," Will mutters, with an edge of sarcasm that only comes out mildly uncertain. "I'll let you know if I-- _fuck!"_

If Will had expected Matthew to be tentative, he's pleasantly surprised. There's the vague touch of Matthew's hand one moment and then within seconds, Will's cutting off with a cursed gasp as a wet heat closes around the head of his cock. Fuck, he can't even remember how long it's been since he's had someone do this, and Matthew doesn't disappoint. It doesn't matter that he's learning. He's enthusiastic. He'd assumed Matthew had been bullshitting him when he'd said sucking dick could be fun, but now he isn't so sure. It's focused heat and suction and the rhythmic press of Matthew's tongue, and Will hisses another rougher curse as he struggles to keep his hips still.

"God... f-fuck. Should have known you'd go all in." He sounds breathless because he is. Will grips the sheets one moment and then decides it's not quite good enough. He reaches a hand out to grab at Matthew's hip instead, nails digging into his skin with a bitten-back moan.

* * *

' _You're the man who's helping me fuck over the Chesapeake Ripper. I'm not the only interesting one.'_

Will's words are likely going to stick with Matthew for a while. It's recognition of a different kind from Will and it _matters_ to Matthew. He doesn't let it show. He doesn't want to think on it. But it's there now, in the back of his mind. (And it's exciting, a sliver of something like squeezing the trigger and killing the bailiff; he wants more of it).

Sucking a dick is really not as bad as Matthew originally thought it could be. Unlike female anatomy, he doesn't have to go spelunking between thighs and it's honestly kind of a nice change. Then again, he's not taken every inch of Will's dick. He's not getting his face fucked either. Things will likely get harder as the minutes tick by. Matthew can see how his this could have his jaw sore if done for a while. He isn't going to worry about that, though. Sex aches and pains are A-OK in his book.

Will sounds pretty damn sexy. Matthew is spurred on by the curse and the breathless quality to Will's voice. He's always liked having expressive partners-- hearing the sounds of their pleasure (but more accurately being the _cause_ of them). So, he pushes away any discomfort (surprisingly not that much to begin with, who knew?) and he moves down, taking more of Will's cock into his mouth. Matthew sucks, his cheeks hollowing. When Will's nails find his hip and dig in, it's further encouragement. He curiously slides his tongue against the underside of Will's dick. The flesh is hot, hard and smooth. Matthew kind of likes it. It's arousal and something familiar but new.

There's an obvious masculine scent having his head at Will's crotch, but it's nothing horrible. Matthew begins bobbing his head, letting half of Will's dick fuck his mouth while his hand pumps lightly at the base. He eventually makes headway, pushing himself to go further and unwraps two fingers to allow him to try and take more of Will in. It gets a little trickier the more of Will's cock that gets stuffed in. It's uncomfortable and he feels the slight urge to gag, but Matthew pays no attention to it.

The blowjob is unrefined. He can feel spit sliding down his chin, but whatever.

* * *

Matthew's suggestion falls by the wayside in the moments that follow because Will's attention is entirely caught by Matthew's mouth on his dick. The pleasure is immediate in a way his hand a few weeks ago hadn't been. It had been too dry then, too quick, but Will hadn't blamed Matthew for it. Rough and dry and a little sore had suited the mood then; it had been a means to an end with a few notable exceptions.

This is different. This is so much different immediately. Will's eyes slide closed as his nails grip Matthew's hip tightly and it's all he can do to avoid the urge to jerk his hips up. His breathing is rougher despite his attempts to hold it back and all he can focus on is the wetness and heat wrapped around his cock. And, as Matthew seems to get a decent handle on the concept and starts to _suck_ , Will's voice catches on a soft moan, his head falling back against the mattress underneath him.

Maybe it isn't the best blowjob he's ever gotten, but it's a mouth on his dick, and it's enthusiastic. More than that, it's something else they're taking away from Hannibal together. Will bites his lip and turns, his forehead pressing against Matthew's thigh, and he shudders as Matthew begins to take more of him in, as he sucks, and his tongue slides under the heat and draws a rougher groan from Will's throat. It's intense and it's quick, and while Will can't really see how messy it is, he can feel it. It's wet, it's filthy, and when Matthew finally finds his rhythm and starts to bob his head, Will's grip tightens and he mutters a series of low curses, his hips twitching up without his permission. "F-fuck, sorry, that's good," he hisses. It's surprisingly good. Either Matthew's a quick study or Will's just that desperate.

He holds on tight as Matthew sucks him off, and as he does, Will is more and more aware of the scent of sex between them. It's different than he's used to, the scent much more masculine and concentrated. Will shudders and shifts, moving just a little closer. But he jolts a little in surprise when something that definitely isn't Matthew's knee brushes against his chest. Will opens his eyes. Oh. Right. For a moment he's a little uncertain, torn on what to do, but then Matthew takes him in even deeper and Will feels the head of his cock brush against Matthew's throat and he hisses a sudden curse. Fuck it. Just... fuck it. This isn't supposed to be one-sided, and Will can feel his empathy grabbing at him. Matthew is actually enjoying himself, and it makes Will want to....

"Fuck, _fuck_ , wait," he grinds out, and he reaches out a hand to shove at Matthew just a little. "Just... up. Get up. Over me, beside me, I don't care. Just... lemme do it too." Do it. Not 'try to', because Will is not entirely a man without pride, and if Matthew can do this, so can he. He's going to have to do this anyway. Might as well do it when Matthew's too distracted to notice if Will fucks it up. "Let me suck you off."

* * *

Up and down, in and out. Swallow when you can, breathe through your nostrils... It's messy, but it's simple. From Will's sounds and twitches of his hips, Matthew knows he's doing a good enough job.... Okay, more than a good enough job. And he fucking likes it. He wants to get Will worked up. He wants him louder and violent. And _taking._ Because sex blending with violence is something Matthew knows very well and enjoys. He likes the surge of pleasure and aggression. It makes more sense to him than anything slow and 'romantic.'

And Matthew can't help but think about Will's dick fucking into some chick (because he's sure Will has fucked before).

And now it's in _his_ mouth. Fucking his mouth.

And then Will is suddenly telling him to wait? Matthew stops, confused. Then further instructions come and fuck, if Will is getting at a 69...

That's what Will is getting at. Matthew feels a jolt of giddy arousal shoot straight to his dick. He pulls off Will's dick, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. "Alright, alright," Matthew says. He briefly debates possible positions. While crawling on top of Will and having Will's head between his legs is probably more demeaning for Will (hello balls and dick in your face), Matthew isn't going to go easy on Will. If Will wants to join in, Will can jump right in.

Mathew gets to his knees and carefully swings a leg over Will's head, caging Will underneath him. His hands are flat on the bed on either side of Will's hips. He's pretty exposed like this, all his dangly bits hanging over Will and Will getting a view of everything, but Matthew doesn't mind. Will's slick dick is waiting for him so Matthew lowers himself and murmurs, "Well, no time like the present to be dick suckers." That said, his mouth opens and he takes Will's cock back in is mouth.

It's now a race to get Will to finish. It's a competition to be better too. So Matthew doesn't fucking care how uncomfortable it is. He pushes himself to move up and down on Will's dick, and if he gags he just goes with it. He's seen it all the time in porn and he knows how good such a thing feels _for_ him, so now Will gets the treat. It's strange to be on the other side of this activity, but Matthew manages just fine.

* * *

He'll need to do it anyway. That's the thought in Will's mind, but more than that is the realization that he wants to try. Matthew hasn't really challenged him to do it with anything but his actions, but Will can read this so well. He can close his eyes and _know_. It's so damn easy. _Look at what I can do,_ Matthew is saying as he bobs his head. _I know I'm good; I'm not afraid. Now you know I'm good too_. It's pride and impulse wrapped around arousal and it's Matthew responding to Will's earlier challenge. Will can feel Matthew's pride in himself. And as he lays there, he swears he can feel empathetic arousal and need. So when he makes his request, it's an inevitability, not really a choice. Isn't their entire partnership _you and me_? This is just an extension of it.

He doesn't know what position Matthew is going to choose when Will's meaning is finally clear, and it takes more effort than he'd like to bite back the disappointed groan when his cock slides out of Matthew's mouth. Will breathes a little heavier, breathless. Then he watches as Matthew seems to consider for a moment before suddenly there's a leg swinging _really_ close to Will's face. He flinches back instinctively but it isn't Matthew's leg that winds up surprising him. It's his cock. Somehow, knowing what he's planning on doing, Matthew's dick seems bigger than it had a few weeks ago. Will hesitates. It's still a dick that isn't his own, and he has no fucking clue what to do with it aside from imitating what he likes done to him. (Which is easier said than done, because having a cock in his face is significantly different than having one in his hand.)

Will's only allowed to be undecided for a moment though. In the next, Matthew's mouth is suddenly on him again, sucking him deep, and Will makes a slightly strangled noise in the back of his throat. It's wet, tight, and hot, and fuck it, it's good. He doesn't care how Matthew stacks up; this is what feels good _now_. Will can all but feel the challenge in the action, in how blatantly Matthew takes him back in. It's then that he finally reaches up with both hands (even if his shoulder is a little stiff) and he sets his hands on Matthew's hips.

He's uncomfortably aware that everything is in his face, and it's only self-control that will keep Matthew from moving. So at first, Will just touches his lips to the side of Matthew's dick, feeling its heat and the intimate pulse that throbs through it. The scent is all arousal and Will groans low in his throat, though more because Matthew's working him fast. Will swears he can feel the back of the guy's throat a few times and the first time Matthew lets himself gag, Will's voice catches on a cry because _fuck_ that feels good.

It's also the incentive he needs to try. Will swallows, wets his lips, and then opens his own mouth, leaning up just enough to take the head of Matthew's cock into his mouth. The taste is immediately just skin, which is kind of a relief. The skin is softer, almost velvet, and it's definitely weird, but Will dismisses it. He'd gone down on women a few times in his past. Giving oral isn't something he aches for, but he likes it just fine. At least with a guy it seems easier. So Will just makes sure his eyes are closed (he doesn't necessarily want to see everything) and then gives Matthew's hips a quick tug to take him in a little deeper. While Matthew bobs his head quick (and _fuck_ does that feel good) Will makes more use of his tongue, one hand moving down to wrap around the base of Matthew's cock to stroke the rest. Unlike Matthew, he isn't about to take it all, but he has his reasons.

* * *

Matthew barely registers the touch of Will's hands to his hips. He's focused on sucking Will's dick and waiting for Will to _eventually_ reciprocate. Matthew thinks he has the better position for this, but whatever, Will can deal with it. Matthew's eyes are open and he feels spit accumulate and escape his mouth. He's probably making a decent mess of this all. This also has no finesse, but Matthew doesn't care. He knows it feels good - Will _sounds_ good - so he'll keep at it. He may not be gay, but he has pride in giving another pleasure. He wants to rock their world. If he's given the chance to feel somebody up, he's going to make sure it's a memorable experience. It's a matter of principle, really.

And then Will does something. Matthew can feel warm lips on the side of his dick and it's a hint that Will is actually going to suck it. This spurs Matthew on. He bobs his head up and down. Sometimes it's too much and he gags, but he ignores the discomfort of it. Finally Will moves and a wet mouth takes the tip of his cock in. Matthew moans his appreciation, working Will faster. Will doesn't take much in, but his hand comes to wrap around what he's not taking and together it's a good combination. Matthew is also getting off on the fact that he knows how this would _look_ to an outsider (to Hannibal). Matthew is over Will, caging him underneath him, Will's fucking head between his legs, all his junk in Will's face, and he's going to town on Will's dick. Labels and gender don't matter now. They're just two guys (friends?) helping each other out. Pent up feelings, arousal, the newness factor--it all mixes.

Matthew pulls off of Will's cock a moment later, gasping to catch a deeper breath. "That's good, Will, feels fucking good," he comments, voice low and shaky.

Matthew then goes right back to it. He's not here to tease or flick his tongue coyly. He inhales quickly through his nostrils and sucks Will hard, moving his head quick. It's a weird kind of exertion, definitely different than a 69 with a woman, but it's not bad. It's not bad at all, really. He could see doing it again even. Giving head and receiving it is a worthwhile pursuit and Matthew wants Will to come. Matthew also wants to come in Will's mouth, but he resists thrusting. He's pretty sure Will wouldn't be receptive to that at all.

* * *

There's no challenge in this. Will knows immediately that there's no way he's going to outlast Matthew here. He'll hopefully manage to give as good as he gets, but Matthew's throwing himself into this, pulling out all the stops in the sense of throwing himself in head first, and he's got one hell of a head start. Pleasure curls hotly through him, each bob of Matthew's head just that much better. His mouth is hot and wet but his enthusiasm is what really registers. Will feels caught (and he is, caged in between Matthew's hands and knees, and what the fuck must this _look_ like?) but he doesn't really mind. It's almost comforting to stay like this. This takes the choice away from him and he feels no shame as he shivers and groans, learning the feel of Matthew's cock.

It's difficult to form an opinion on it though because before he can do much, Matthew is moaning and the vibration is enough that Will _almost_ forgets himself enough to thrust. He makes a sound - sudden, just shy of desperate - and exhales hard through his nose. Fuck, okay, that does feel good. It doesn't matter that Matthew's a man. It doesn't matter that neither of them are experienced. Matthew's just reckless enough to fake knowing what he's doing and there's no way Will is going to be able to hold on until after Matthew comes. He isn't even sure if he wants to. But that doesn't mean that he doesn't try to reciprocate. Though it's difficult, Will focuses his attention on mapping the way Matthew's cock feels in his mouth. While Matthew goes for enthusiasm, Will goes for reactions.

Every time he feels Matthew shudder, or hears a moan, he alternates and repeats between the action that had caused it. He jerks Matthew's hips down, forces his legs to spread a little wider so that Will can reach, and he pulls out as many stops as he can. Oh, he's not particularly _good_ , he's sure. He keeps stopping to grunt or moan whenever Matthew gags around him, or takes him in fucking _deep_ , but Will still tries. He tongues at Matthew's slit and sucks as hard as he dares, bobbing his head as best as he can. His hand strokes, his wrist twisting on every few down-strokes like he's trying to literally milk the guy (he doesn't think about that for too long) and he throws himself into it as best as he can while distracted. He's almost relieved when Matthew draws back enough to tell him it's good, and Will does feel a twist of satisfaction in response. He works harder, takes a little more in, staying mindful of his teeth (though he does let them scrape feather-light once or twice, just to see if Matthew likes it rough).

But in the end, Will can feel his own pleasure racing ahead. He feels breathless with it, desperate, his face flushed, his hips beginning to twitch and squirm. And when he draws back to gasp, he doesn't stop stroking. If anything, he just strokes faster.

"Fuck..." He presses his lips to Matthew's cock, eyes closed, breathing quicker, and he tries to hold on. He does. He needs this, though. He thinks they both do. Will feels the pleasure coil tight, feels the edge of it, and then he's suddenly gasping sharply as that coil within snaps.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , I can't--" Will hisses. It's the only warning he gives, and it's nowhere near enough, but the words escape him just as pleasure slams him. He arches (but does try to keep from thrusting) and his fingers grip Matthew's hip tightly enough to bruise as he grabs at him, shuddering, and comes, pulsing thick and hot over Matthew's tongue. Will groans, the sound deep and rough; it feels too good to stay quiet.

* * *

Matthew is going for fast and deep, and Will seems to like it. Will is more thorough, exploring and curious, using his tongue and teeth even. Matthew doesn't mind. The actual act is more important than the fucking _technique_ being shown here. They both haven't sucked a dick before, so they'll figure this out together. That's what they're doing. Together. Picking up a new skill set... and Lecter should send him a gift basket in the future. He's doing a service here 'cause it's only a matter of time before Will starts getting frisky with Lecter, and Hannibal Lecter is then going to owe him a debt. He's helping Will out here. (He almost wants to pull off and laugh, but winning on this is more important.)

Will learns what he likes (a little teeth, the flit of a tongue against his slit, being sucking hard while the base of his dick is squeezed) and he makes sure to repeat the actions. Matthew is enjoying himself immensely; it's fucking hot to have Will sucking him off at the same time. But Matthew focuses on getting Will off, on proving himself and his commitment to this.

He _is_ committed to this. Will may not be some hot, fiery redhead or a perky blonde, but Will is darker and tempting in his own way. Will is like playing with fire, or perhaps Lecter is the fire and Will is the accelerant. Either way, Matthew is giving this his all and he's going to make Will feel good. Better than good. When Will's mouth pulls away, his hand speeds up to compensate and then there's a bunch of 'fuck’s hissed out and Matthew supposes it's a good enough warning for him.

Will's dick pulsates, come hitting the back of his throat and then his tongue. It's nasty shit and Matthew struggles because he really doesn't _want_ to swallow, but Will sounds hot and Matthew doesn't want to ruin the mood... so he sticks up and swallows quickly. He then pulls away to catch his breath, slick lips quirking into a pleased grin no one can see but that Will knows will be there. "Good shit, Will," Matthew comments, his voice sounding more like gravel from his throat being agitated. He carefully extracts himself from Will figuring he'll need a moment or two to collect himself before hopefully finishing _him_ off. Matthew lays on his back, his head by Will's knees and his hands coming to rest on his stomach as he waits.

* * *

Will loses his rhythm. It's selfish, but like this, with Matthew's mouth on his dick, he can't bring himself to care. He can't care about a lot of things, actually. This is what he's needed. And as his pleasure crests and he reverts to gripping at Matthew's thigh tightly as he comes, he can't help but marvel at what a difference having someone on his side makes. It doesn't soothe the wrenching conversation from before. It doesn't lessen Will's displeasure over everything with Hannibal. What it does do is give him an outlet. Maybe Matthew isn't the same force to be reckoned with that Hannibal is, but he's something more than Will has had before. If this is what he needs to do in order to keep Matthew around, it isn't like he's hurting. He's never liked men before, but even Will has to admit that this had been _good_.

It's even better when he realizes the sheer extent of what Matthew is doing. Pleasure pounds through his veins, thick and hot, and his worries eclipse for that perfect moment. It takes him until after, when his heart is pounding and Matthew's lips slide slowly off of his cock, for him to realize that Matthew had _swallowed_. It's enough to send another hot pulse of pleasure through him, remnants of come dribbling from his cock, and Will groans, sounding almost dazed as Matthew carefully extracts himself and rolls over. Will doesn't have to look in order to see the smile on his face; he can hear it in Matthew's voice.

He's still got to reciprocate. Will's not about to be selfish, even though it's tempting. But as Matthew draws away and leaves him to catch his breath, Will lets himself take a few shaky moments to come back down, his limbs feeling heavier, a deeply sated sensation sliding through him. "Fuck, you're good at that," he murmurs, and maybe it's a little manipulative. Will knows Matthew thrives on praise. He's got an ego to rival Hannibal's. He's just more transparent about it. It's something Will actually admires.

But as much as he wants to bask, Will's not enough of an ass to leave Matthew hanging. He's sluggish as he looks over, still breathing hard, and yeah, maybe he's never been turned on by a guy before, but there's definitely something hot in how used Matthew's mouth looks. Will bites back a small curse and glances towards Matthew's cock, still hard. There's no way that will _ever_ fit anywhere but his mouth but it's not something Will needs to worry about for now. He props himself up on one elbow and - instead of giving verbal thanks - he leans over. It's immediately apparent that leaning over someone to give head is a lot easier than lying under them. He wraps his hand around Matthew's cock in the way he has learned he likes and Will opens his mouth, taking the head of Matthew's cock back in to suck hard.

Will's nowhere near as reckless with this as Matthew had been. He falls back into it, alternating between harsher suction and quick flicks of his tongue as he strokes Matthew's cock. It's only his own fatigue that even makes him change the angle, and once he realizes that it seems a little easier. After turning his head, he considers, glances at Matthew, and then draws off. "Budge up a bit," he says, and reluctantly draws himself up. He gets onto his knees and moves down between Matthew's legs, and though it's much more daunting like this, when he curiously leans in and tries again, the difference in angle is clear. It means he's got to learn to be careful all over again, minding his teeth. But it _also_ means he can rub his tongue against the sensitive underside of Matthew's cock every time he bobs his head. It's easier like this. And, if Will's being honest, it's more tactile, to be able to glance up and make sure he's doing a good job.

* * *

As far as oral adventures go, this one has been thrilling for Matthew. Sure, jizz is gross (he can understand why a chick would opt to spit it out, and he can't blame them really). The bitter taste is still lingering in his mouth, but with alcohol dulling his senses and being successful at getting Will off, Matthew can't bring himself to care about it all that much. He hopes he's made headway (no pun intended) with Will. Hannibal may jerk his chain, but Matthew will be here to do a bit of damage control. Maybe it's not what he signed up for in the beginning, but Matthew can be flexible. _If_ and _when_ he wants, that is.

Thankfully he doesn't have to wait long before Will is moving and getting back to it. Will's hand grasps his dick again and his mouth is reintroduced soon after. Matthew squirms a little, but doesn't jerk his hips up. Would be rude and all, and Matthew remembers that Will hadn't wanted to be 'fucked up.' Matthew will be polite.

And then Will is stopping and Matthew is momentarily confused as to why. Then instructions come. Ah. Position change, apparently. Matthew obliges, spreading his legs for Will to come to settle in between. It's more intimate this way, but likely easier for Will. Less chance of Will getting a crook in his neck (heaven forbid). His right hand reaches out and comes to rest on Will's head, stroking shorter brown hair in encouragement as Will restarts. The position is obviously easier for Will, and Matthew lets himself simply enjoy it. He doesn't try to keep quiet. He has no shame in this. Matthew hisses out the occasional curse when Will's tongue coaxes it out. He moans. Steadily, Will works him closer and Matthew's breathing turns more ragged, his muscles tensing in familiar anticipation. "Getting close, Will," Matthew warns.

Will continues on and as much as Matthew wants to come in Will's mouth, he's not going to push it. He hadn't thought he would even get _this_. So when he feels the build up, Matthew curls up, pulling Will's head away, and his left hand comes to wrap over Will's on his cock. He jerks himself off with their hands once, twice and then positions Will's palm over the tip and comes hotly into Will's hand. He watches Will closely, a pleased quirk to his lips.

* * *

Will _thinks_ about telling Matthew to warn him when he gets close, but he forgets to by the time he leans back in and takes Matthew's cock back past his lips. The taste of skin isn't really bad. It's just skin. The slight edge of bitterness is less appealing, particularly when Will realizes it's likely precome. But he lets his aversion rest because honestly, it's only fair. Plus it's difficult to really protest when Matthew is so vocally invested in this. Will chances small looks up past his bangs as Matthew's hand comes to rest in his hair, and Will decides he likes that - both the hand in his hair and how Matthew looks getting his dick sucked. Will's glances are covert; he watches as Matthew chases his own high, listening to the moans and the hisses and the curses with an awed sort of wonder. It's hot. Even having just came, Will can understand that. Each soft curse twists something in his stomach and he tries hard not to empathize with Matthew like this.

Instead he throws himself into this as much as he can. He doesn't stop, just keeps sucking and rubbing his tongue along the underside of Matthew's cock. He does everything to him that Will knows he enjoys when people opt to blow him, and he keeps his hand moving steadily, stroking quick and pointed as he tries to get Matthew off. And honestly, Will's pretty damn relieved when Matthew's voice rings out again, warning him without being asked. Will chances a glance up at him, and just for a second, he seems torn. One moment stretches into two before Will swallows around Matthew's dick and then throws himself back into it, sucking again as he bobs his head. It's fair, he tells himself. Matthew let him come in his mouth, this makes sense.

Even so, Will's _very_ relieved when Matthew tugs quick at his hair. He's not entirely graceful as he's pulled back, a long string of saliva-or-precome stretching between his lips and the head of Matthew's cock before it breaks and falls wetly over his hand. But Will's quick to wet his lips, breathing heavily as he sends Matthew a curious look. He doesn't stop stroking, and when Matthew's hand closes over his own, Will understands. He looks down, then glances back up, torn between watching Matthew or his cock as he gets close and then, on a rush that even Will can feel vicariously, comes into the palm of Will's hand.

It's a familiar feeling. Will looks up at Matthew as he comes and he's only half-surprised to see the near-smile on his lips. Will chances a small one back as he moves his free hand in to carefully jerk his cock until Will's other palm is coated in come. When Matthew is done, he takes his hand back and glances down at his come-coated palm. It's only curiosity that makes him do it, but Will does curiously lick the edge of one of his fingers - and then he immediately grimaces and shakes his head.

"Ugh. How the Hell did you _swallow?_ "

* * *

Matthew watches Will watch him. It's hot and it makes his own orgasm all the better. From the light in the hall, he can't make out too many details, but Will looks a little flushed, mouth wet and messy. Little bit fucked up, little bit messed up, but not too badly. While it's not their first time getting each other off, it's their first time actually naked and more personal. And not in a fucking cell too (although, c'mon, workplace fucks are kind of exciting!)

Will jerks him off with his other hand and Matthew groans through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He breathes harshly and his eyes flit downward..Matthew sees Will's hands covered in his come. It's also a pretty nice sight. He wants to come over Will's face one day - at least over his mouth - to see flecks of white in his stubble. Blood would also be nice. He wants to be bloody with Will--

The thought/fantasy is ruined when Will licks at the jizz and makes a dumbass comment afterward. Matthew rolls his eyes, scoffing lightly. He suddenly grabs at Will's hands, interlocking their fingers and gripping tightly. His come squishes between their fingers. Matthew grins at Will. "Because I'm committed," Matthew answers simply. "You and me, right?"

**Author's Note:**

> Like the story? Please consider reblogging it on tumblr [here](http://merrythought.tumblr.com/post/164734542303/) or leaving a comment and kudo, thanks.


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